


The Thrill and the Hurting

by HarmonicFriction



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, game of thrones
Genre: Animal Abuse, Arousal during abuse, Bad Parenting, Butt Slapping, Choking, Dark, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Falling In Love, Family Drama, First Love, First Time, In Character, Masochism, Mother-Son Relationship, Object Penetration, Parent-Child Relationship, Past Child Abuse, Rape Fantasy, Rape Roleplay, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Sadism, Stockholm Syndrome, Tragedy, Unhappy Ending, Vaginal Fisting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-03 06:11:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 69,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2840936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarmonicFriction/pseuds/HarmonicFriction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa slips into shadows. She can play Joffrey's games or perish on his horrific playground. She realizes she must invent a new persona to suit her mad king's desires. Joffrey is plagued by unsettling flashbacks that may explain his gruesome hobbies. As the memories become more vivid,he must face a very dark secret he repressed during childhood. This secret may either push him toward light and sanity, or bring him closer to his demons. Now Sansa and Joffrey play in the shadows, together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lessons

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from Fanfiction.net. This romance is dark, unhappy and (based on the response from readers on ff.net) slightly controversial. Will be the same plot-wise but with more graphic detail not permitted on ff.net. Heed warnings and (hopefully!) enjoy.

 

 

. . .

SANSA

. . .

* * *

 

SANSA STARK used to wish she had never left Winterfell, and before that (so, so long ago) she used to daydream about being anywhere _but_ Winterfell. She'd thought King's Landing sounded like a spectacular, beautiful place with actual lords, ladies, kings, queens and knights, instead of her boring siblings, nagging Mother, and annoyingly protective Father. Sansa would sit in her lessons and dream of her future somewhere bigger and brighter than Winterfell, somewhere she'd be recognized for the perfect lady she knew she was deep down. Sansa's wishes as a young girl were very exact: she wanted a comfortable home, a handsome and gallant husband, and exactly three children (two girls and one boy).

When she turned thirteen, those dreams she focused so heavily on each night while praying to the Gods, those dreams she thought about during sewing with her Septa, those dreams she'd figured could only happen in ages and ages, were going to soon be a reality! Sansa was informed that she may have an impending betrothal and all the more exciting was the fact that her husband-to-be (if all went according to planned) was not simply a knight or a lord. He was Joffrey Baratheon, of the houses Baratheon and Lannister, heir and prince of Westeros! Joffrey's father was Sansa's father's best friend, _King_ Robert, and Sansa just knew in her heart that she would fall in love with Prince Joffrey the moment she saw him. How could she not? She knew he would be handsome, nurturing and kind, just as she'd always hoped her future love would be. When she badgered her parents for information about the prince's looks and his favorite activities and foods, they soon grew unresponsive. Her father finally admitted he did not know much, except he recalled Joffrey had taken after his mother, sporting green eyes and hair of Lannister gold. Sansa knew he'd be beautiful, she just _knew._ Jon Snow, Father's bastard son, mockingly told her he'd heard from Theon the prince was a cunt who looked like a pretty girl. Infuriated and tearful, Sansa knew right then how different she was from those in her family, and how much she needed to be in King's Landing with Joffrey, her one true love. How soon Sansa's dreams changed.

From the moment Sansa saw Joffrey ride in proudly on his stallion, she knew there was no other way she could live her life but be Joffrey's bride, his future queen. He jumped effortlessly off his horse and smiled straight at Sansa and she felt her heart melt into a puddle inside her chest. He was perfect. She looked excitedly to her little sister Arya for approval but Arya was far more interested in where Joffrey's uncle, the "Imp", had gone. Sansa shushed her sister and focused on the handsome boy before her. Prince Joffrey was tall and straight-backed with gleaming white teeth and gorgeous blond curls that made it look like he was already wearing a crown, or even a halo. His eyes were expressive and his forehead wasn't too large, and he was dressed in the finest Southern garb, a velvet riding coat in Lannister red and well-polished riding boots. Sansa was instantly in love, and she fell even harder when Joffrey protected her from two of his men, a frightening mute by the name of Ser Illyn Payne and his sworn shield, a badly burned and scary man named Clegane who Joffrey coolly referred to as his "Dog". Her heart beat in her chest when Joffrey invited her to ride with him around Winterfell for the purpose of getting to know him. It was the perfect afternoon. They rode their horses (Joff riding so fast Sansa struggled to catch up, he was just too _talented_ at riding), played in the shadow cat caves near the river, feasted on a lovely picnic, and drank more wine than Sansa had ever had in her life. _"My betrothed can drink as much as she likes,"_ Joffrey had said in an important voice that made Sansa's heart swell, and he let her drink more and more of the sweet red liquid from his leather pouch. Joffrey was only a few years her senior but he acted in charge, like a real man. She listened to his stories and his sweet singing, and when the light began to disappear behind the clouds she wondered aloud if they should go back to the castle. She'd had far too much wine and felt too dizzy, too daring. Joff hadn't wanted to, and Sansa needed to appeal to her betrothed so she'd agreed. She should have insisted they hurry back. But how could she have known?

They'd heard a strange noise beyond the brambles, and Joffrey wanted to investigate, promising he would take care of her if danger arose. Clinging to his arm, Sansa almost wished there _would_ be danger. That way, her valiant and beautiful prince could save her and it would be just like the ballads. But instead of dragons or ruffians or bears, it was only stupid Arya and her stupid friend Micah. Sansa was instantly embarrassed, especially when Arya spoke to Joff like he was a commoner instead of a future king. Arya was always making Sansa's life a terror, always messing up everything with her willfulness. Joffrey seemed to think that Arya and Micah's stick "sword-fighting" was funny and he'd swaggered right over, his voice loud and bold and his speech slightly slurred. Then suddenly, he was using his own sword, his real sword that he'd named Lion's Tooth, on Micah's cheek. A thin river of blood sprang up and Micah cried out. Sansa's head felt woozy as she watched the scene unfold before her eyes: Arya springing to Micah's defense, Joff swinging his sword at Arya's head and shouting awful, nasty words (Sansa had never imagined her future husband saying such things), and then Nymeria had dove in, ever protective just like Arya herself. Before Sansa could so much as scream, Nymeria had Joff's arm in her great jaws and she was tearing at his skin. There was so much blood, and Sansa yelled at them all to _stop, stop, stop._ Arya tossed Lion's Tooth into the water and ran off and Nymeria followed. Enraged, confused and scared, Sansa rushed to her poor prince's side, ready to offer support, aid, anything he wanted. But when Prince Joffrey looked up at her, his large green eyes were flashing in a dangerous way. _"Don't touch me,"_ he'd spat and Sansa had backed away, tears springing into her eyes as she went for help.

Then, the horrors happened. Prince Joffrey lied to his mother, the Queen, and said that Micah and Arya had attacked _him._ Sansa feigned ignorance. She did not want to displease Joffrey, and perhaps she'd had too much wine? Perhaps she was remembering events differently? He had a great bandage wrapped round his arm and the Queen said the direwolf who'd scarred him had to die but Nymeria could not be found. Instead, it was decided that Lady would be put to death. The first piece of Sansa broke that day.

In the weeks that followed, Sansa's thoughts were all over. She deeply wanted to marry Joffrey and so she tried to put Lady (and later, Micah, who she learned had been slaughtered by Joffrey's Dog) out of her mind. After all, Lady was Arya's fault. The rift between she and her little sister grew deeper when her father _finally_ decided he would be King Robert's hand and travel to King's Landing. The betrothal was on and Sansa was overjoyed. But Joffrey would not even look upon her anymore. When she caught his eyes, he only sneered. _"What did I do?"_ Sansa wailed to her Septa, to her father, to Arya, but after the first week no one wanted to hear her woes. Queen Cersei was the only person who gave Sansa encouragement. _"He's a very sweet boy,"_ the Queen said, _"but he's also very moody. I think he was displeased you saw him become injured, and I am certain he was embarrassed he was attacked in front of you by two children so much younger than him. He's very proud. See if you cannot make him happy by telling him how good and brave he is. That is my advice."_ Sansa did not bother mentioning that Joffrey had not been attacked by anyone except Nymeria, who was only defending her sister. She loved Cersei. The Queen was beautiful and made Sansa feel grown up. At least, that was then.

Sansa began to drop praise on Joffrey whenever she could. She clapped at tourneys when he did. She complimented his grand clothes, his horses, his home. Soon, he was smiling again, and he even gifted her a wonderful pendant and _kissed_ her. His mouth was smooth and firm and he threaded his hands through her hair. Everything was perfect again.

When King Robert tragically died and it was announced Joffrey was being groomed for the crown, Sansa could not be happier. But then Father was in trouble. He'd questioned Joffrey's right to the throne; _why would he do that?_ He was locked away below the castle and Sansa could not believe her bad luck, _what was Father doing, why was he spoiling her happiness when everything was supposed to be perfect?_ She just wanted everyone to get along and celebrate her marriage to her handsome prince. They were going to rule happily and all the townspeople would adore them and they'd have three beautiful blond green-eyed children, two girls and one boy.

That was three months ago, before the newly crowned King Joffrey had blatantly ignored Sansa's urgent plea for her father's pardon and had commanded Father's head be chopped off right there in front of the entire population of King's Landing. Right in front of Sansa's eyes. A large piece of Sansa broke that day, and more chipped away when it was announced Arya had gone missing, and that Sansa now belonged to King's Landing- belonged to King Joffrey as collateral for a potential bargain with Winterfell. When King Joffrey gloatingly showed off Father's head, stinking and rotted on a pike outside the castle gates, Sansa had become numb. Joffrey was no hero, no valiant king. He was a beast.

Yet, losing her maidenhead changed everything. It changed Sansa's way of thinking and she was certain now it had changed Joffrey's. In the night, they were each other's and in the day, sometimes he was a boy and other times he was a cruel creature Sansa could not quite decipher. If Sansa was good, she would get a reward. If she was bad, she'd be punished. She'd learned to savor those happy moments when she pleased Joffrey. If she could figure out how to keep him happy forever, perhaps she would stay alive.

..

JOFFREY

. .

* * *

KING JOFFREY BARATHEON was not exactly certain how the predicament with Sansa Stark had begun. He'd meant for it to be a lesson to his mother and now he was worried he might actually have tender feelings for Sansa. Nasty, loving, tender feelings. It had happened slowly but steadily over the course of a few months, and although he was feeling ill about it he couldn't stop. He couldn't stay away from her room. He watched her every move, tongue waggling out like a snake's—hungry. Curious. He was even beginning to look forward to the evenings, to the darkness that ensured they would be together alone, without interruptions. ( _I've done a bad thing, Mother_.) He'd gone against the rules and he'd spoiled Sansa's maidenhead and he'd meant to stop after that but he could not get away from her. He couldn't stop filling Sansa up. Not even now.

 _Mother started it all,_ Joffrey decided. She had encouraged him to break the code of conduct, she'd brought it on herself because she doubted him. She started it with the way she pranced about as if it was she who owned the kingdom, like it was she who held the power and esteem in her greedy ivory hands. Joffrey surmised that had Cersei been a good and quiet mother, he'd have left Sansa alone until their impending marriage because there would have been nothing to prove. But Cersei, as much as he loved her (he still did, after all, even now), was a meddling cold-hearted cunt who needed to be bested. Because King Joffrey had the crown and the throne and Mother did not. This was something that needed to be understood by everyone in King's Landing. Especially Cersei.

The initital excitement of having a pretty princess by his side was soiled before it even really started. Joffrey could not stand public humiliation; it turned him defensive and made him scream, drove him into a furious rage that left his siblings crying and his parents grappling for an answer. Joffrey was a boy who wanted to be respected, who lived for praise and pretty words, and when he was seen as anything other than heroic he fell apart like his sister's mutilated dollies. Joffrey fancied Sansa because Sansa was supposed to be his one and only love. She was beautiful, with bright eyes and flowing crimson hair. When they met, she watched him with delight, with worship- just as anyone woman should look upon her future husband. Yes, Sansa looked upon him with adoration but then, all of a sudden, she'd seen him cry. It was not his fault, of course. He'd been mercilessly attacked by two other children _and_ a direwolf had been set on him! He'd been horribly scarred and the pain had been excruciating. She'd seen him erupt in frustration and hot anger. She'd seen him in a fragile moment before he'd even had a chance to kiss her, and for this she needed to be punished.

Joffrey suddenly did not love Sansa Stark. Joffrey detested her with everything he had inside of him.

 _Why, why, why does she have to come with? Do I really have to marry her? She's ghastly, she's horrible,_ he shouted at his mother but unlike other tantrums, this one did not change much of anything. Joffrey spent the following days hating Sansa more and more. Certainly, she was good-looking but he hated her voice, absolutely loathed her obnoxious diction and her carefully worded sentences. He hated how she cut her food and how she apologized profusely for every movement she made. He started blocking her out and the only times he cared about what she was saying were the times he caught her muttering under her breath.

Joffrey refused to learn anything about Sansa Stark, even though his mother said this would be a good idea and a privilege she'd never had with his father. Cersei encouraged him to ask her questions: Did she have hobbies? What colours did she prefer? Did she sing or sew or tell stories? _She's a stupid girl_ , Joffrey told his mother hotly, _so what else is there to know?_

Joffrey wasn't interested in bedding Sansa, not anymore, not at all. Being interested in Sansa would give the power of being desired and Joffrey wasn't willing to give her any of that. There had been some fascination with her body and looks initially. He'd imagined putting himself inside her, wondered if perhaps Sansa would take him in her mouth and whether she'd scream and cry when he did all the things he'd envisioned doing with a woman. Joffrey wanted to put his hands on her neck and pinch her. He wanted to bite her lip and push his fingers inside her, hear her say his name in awe. He wanted to take complete control of Sansa. But now that she was at King's Landing, he couldn't be bothered. He didn't like her excessive, sickening kindness. He didn't respect her family. He didn't like how Eddard Stark had stolen his father's heart and soul, that Father cared for Ned more than Joffrey and especially that he did not hide this fact from anyone. Joffrey absolutely hated Ned Stark, hated the light in Father's eyes when he recalled stories of he and Ned's past together.

Joffrey focused on his regular activities. He perfected his crossbow marksmanship on songbirds, launched pebbles into the stable to watch the horses buck up, tripped maids in the hallways, and broke Tommen's toys. He mocked his Hound's face and dumped wine in Myrcella's lap. He ignored Sansa Stark. When she looked his way, he grimaced. When she tried to smile at him, he sneered.

Mother said, _be nice_. Mother said, _no matter what, she is to be your queen and you must treat her like a queen. I know you are ashamed but there is no need to be. You are strong. You are a handsome, brilliant prince and you'll be a fine ruler. Be a good boy, Joffrey. Be my sweet boy and be courteous to our guest, your future wife_. So Joffrey tried to block out the jealous thoughts and do what was right. He even decided to kiss Sansa. If he was going to have to _be nice_ , he wanted to get something out of it. He had to be honest. He liked the feeling of his lips on hers, of his hands on her waist, of complete control. Most of all, he liked the look in her eyes. The look that said, 'you can do anything you want to me because I trust you.' This was an improvement from babying him, from seeing him cry. Joffrey decided, _well_ , it could be worse.

And then, Father died without any warning and Joffrey was suddenly being groomed for the crown. There were bigger issues than his impending marriage with Sansa, like her father trying to steal his title, trying to ruin everything just as he'd ruined Robert. When Sansa knelt before Joffrey and begged for her father's mercy, Joffrey was pleased. Now this was a wife, this was a respectful, dutiful girl. But a girl who thought she had any place to change a king's mind needed to be taught a lesson and so Joffrey had Eddard Stark's head removed from his body ( he'd never forget the sinewy neck being clipped by strong metal, the body twitching slightly, the dark red blood). He liked how Sansa stared, tears rolling down her face, as she realized that he, King Joffrey, was in charge and she was not. At least Sansa was beginning to understand.

The idea of a marriage to her became less terrible. It was something he had to do and so it became a game. Joffrey wanted his future wife to be afraid. He wanted her to respect him and hate him and love him and hide from him all at once. He wanted her to hide from him because he wanted to find her. He wanted to see the fear in her eyes when he pulled her up by her hair and said, _Got you_. He wanted her to be completely consumed with thoughts of him, while he only took her when he pleased and put her away when he did not wish to see her. He had it all figured out, you see. Sansa had not bled yet, and so Joffrey made completely certain that while she was waiting to wed him, she would learn to respect him as deeply as possible. That way, she would be ready to please him.

He tortured her mercilessly but he also let her know when she looked attractive, because she should never forget how important it was to look pretty for him. _That_ was a rule. He delighted in showing her Ned's disembodied head, traitorous eyes blank and mouth gaping in a forever apology. Joffrey liked the hatred in his bride-to-be's blue eyes, and he matched it with his own shining green stare, his lips grinning in amusement. Fix him with loathing? It was a challenge. And he would win. He was excited, more than he wanted to admit, while watching Ser Arys slap Sansa across the face. Just the thought of it made going to bed with Sansa seem like an easy task.

Joffrey did not know much about lying in bed with women properly but he knew what pleased him when he was alone. Beautiful thoughts of brutal punishments. Images of girls flogged and hog-tied, lying facedown on his canopied bed. Blood-soaked gowns. Large bosoms, long ringlets spread down nude backs, rivulets of plasma dripping out from the corners of their eye sockets. He'd stroke himself rapidly and then sigh in pleasure, letting go on his sheets or stomach while he dreamed about girls he could mutilate, girls nobody would ever miss. Joffrey wasn't his blasted Uncle Imp. He didn't love women like a weak, piteous fool. He hated women. (Hated them just like he hated wailing babies and cats and ugly people and rainy days and the smell of the pigs and unclean clothing and getting hurt and losing his words in the middle of a sentence and he hated women almost as much as he hated admitting defeat. And most of all, he hated that stupid Sansa Stark.)

Oh, but that was then.


	2. Motherly Advice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joffrey is challenged by his mother's assumption regarding Sansa Stark.

 

. . . 

JOFFREY

. . . 

* * *

 

On the first day, the day the predicament began (though at the time he thought he had control), Joffrey wore a scowl tight as a knot as Cersei scolded him. He sat and stared her down, eyes blazing, as she lectured him on his childishness, told him he was being foolhardy and impatient. He'd told Cersei to leave the ruling to him just yesterday and here she was, prattling on again. Joffrey recalled that as a young boy, he'd thought his mother was the most beautiful, smartest woman in the world. Now he realized that the world was much vaster than that, and that Cersei was not without fault. In fact, she was an aggravating, officious bitch. A bitch who'd struck him, and in front of his servants nonetheless! He figured she'd never try  _that_ again but it hadn't shut her up. Because now, Joffrey simpered, here she was rambling on again about nothing.  _Diplomacy_ , _matters of state, making alliances, proper court conduct, how to address the King's Guard—phooey._ He crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently on the floor. The fact that Uncle Imp was Joffrey's hand ( _some_ hand _, he hardly had normal legs_ ) was enough punishment. Now Mother was trying to rule in Joffrey's place? It just would not stand.

When she set in again on the subject of Eddard Stark's head and what a "rash decision" that had been, Joffrey fixed her with a stony glare. "Stop talking," he commanded. "Are you inferring that Stark should have been kept alive? I told you, Mother. Such acts are considered punishable by death and as King I'd hate to make the people think my own family is free of such a penalty. That wouldn't be just or fair, would it? The people wouldn't like that. Would they?" he mocked.

"You know I stand by you fully, my sweet Joffrey," Mother said, with a nod, her smile as stony as Joffrey's eyes. "But I have to make certain you are counseled correctly—"

"See. That's where you're wrong. You don't stand  _by_ me," Joffrey interrupted, and his voice was sharp, "you stand  _behind_ me."

Mother's eyes clouded a bit and he hoped that she'd get the message and shut her foolish mouth. From what he'd been hearing lately, she used that mouth for a plethora of things: gossip, prying, directing around  _his_ men, and most recently, that she'd used her mouth on men besides his late father. Joffrey didn't care. In fact, he wished she'd go choke on a cock somewhere if that's what she really wanted; it would save him the trouble of hearing her. "I'm worried about you," was what spilled out of her lips next and Joffrey rolled his eyes. "No, listen—please listen. It seems everything has gotten a bit out of hand, and I merely wish to help you. Not only as queen regent but as your mother—"

"Be quick," Joffrey said with a wave of his hand and instead of looking at her he paced his chambers, surveying the arrows and old toys on his oak desk. He leaned on the wood, posing with one foot behind the other.

Cersei sat gingerly in the chair across from Joffrey's bed and placed her hands in the lap of her silken red gown, bowing her head so that her golden ringlets hung around her face. "Your uncle Tyrion told me about the…" She paused and tried again. "He told me about the prostitutes he bought you for your Name Day present," she said in a soft tone.

Joffrey snapped his head up, surveying her expression. Uncle Imp apparently not only took Joffrey for a fool but he took him for a small child, telling on him to Cersei like a big-mouthed kitchen maid. "And?" he snarled. "What do you have to say about it? I'd think with my father's habits, you'd be pleased to know what I did to them." A sneer formed on his lips as his mother met his eyes again.

"I wasn't pleased," Cersei said gravely. "What was your intention in treating them so?"

"My intention?" Joffrey chortled and turned his back again, brushing his finger across an arrow. Hot desire pulsed through his body again simply at the memory of the two whores, one bare-arsed and bellowing as the other pummeled her body with various blunt objects. "Tyrion bought them for me. They were my present. So I was using them as I pleased."

"You can be honest with me, Joffrey," his mother said. "Was it some sort of release, some way to get out anger?"

"I wasn't angry," Joffrey said calmly. "I was quite happy."

Cersei sighed. Even without looking, he knew she was tensing up, trying to stay patient. If he irritated her sufficiently at this point by playing dumb or answering her questions crassly, she'd leave soon enough. "Tyrion also told me about your treatment of little Sansa in front of the court, and that he suspected you only tortured those two girls to get back at him for intervening and Joffrey, I'm just not quite certain what you—"

Joffrey wheeled around, scowling. "Oh, so now you listen to the Imp? Now you do the Imp's bidding?" he shouted. "First him, and now you! I thought you were supposed to be on MY side, not HIS! Sansa is to be my wife and I don't even want to marry her but she's going to be my queen so she's mine! She's mine and I can do just what I want to her!"

"Aiming a crossbow at your betrothed's heart is not reasonable," Mother declared, standing. "You may not think you want to marry Sansa but she will make you a good queen. So please try to  _treat_  her like a queen."

"I'll treat her just how I please," Joffrey said, his voice rising quickly into a piercing volume. "And if I want her stripped naked in front of me and beaten, then that is exactly what I shall do!"

"Committing acts like that…" She hesitated. "Well, you are free to do as you wish but it does not present the best image to the public, Joffrey—"

"She's  _my_ betrothed," Joffrey protested. "So I don't care what the public thinks!"

"You may wish to walk with caution, my sweet son," Cersei said in a soft tone. "Sansa is not yours yet. She has not flowered. As soon as you are wed—"

But Joffrey was not listening. "No," he argued. "She IS mine. I can do what I like to her. I can kill her if I like. I can have her whipped in front of the entire city. Strung up on a rope. And if the mood strikes me, I can take her before our wedding night and discard her like refuse."

"You cannot do that," Mother said firmly, and narrowed her gaze, green with envy for the throne, for the crown, for everything Joffrey had been born to.

"You're jealous," he said snidely.

"I'm your  _mother,_ " she snapped.

"Well, I'm the king." Joffrey replied. "I'll fuck her bloody." He smiled. "Try to stop me."

"You wouldn't touch Sansa," Mother clucked, shaking her head slowly. "You don't even wish to marry her. You are just a boy, Joffrey. I don't believe you."

Joffrey's mouth twitched, and his insides boiled with loathing. He knew right then that he had to teach her a lesson. King's Landing and all of its inhabitants belonged to him, not Cersei, not this weak-willed and foolish woman. She often told him he was too young for things, that he had to wait, and Joffrey was quite sure that on the contrary he could have whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it.

"Enough," he simpered after what seemed like all the hours of the day. "I've heard just about enough of you for now. You are dismissed. Go find someone else to annoy."

"I'm looking out for your best intentions," said the queen regent in a low voice. "I love you."

Joffrey nodded. "I know, Mother. I love you, too. But leave me before I get my Hound to drag you out. You won't like that."

Mother fixed him with a last stern glance before storming out of his chambers, her skirts fluttering out behind her. And sitting there, his face burning with the sting of his mother's disbelieving words, he decided that he was going to have his way with Sansa Stark that night. And that was that.

. . .

He thought about it all afternoon, sitting grandly on the throne and biting his lip in deliberation. Should he request her presence in the garden, command the guards to leave and drive himself between her legs right there on the cobblestone footpath? Should he instruct Sansa to arrive at his chambers and have his way with her there? Grab her by her hair and spit venom into her mouth while driving his hand inside her?

The problem was, he wasn't exactly certain how to go about his plan. He knew the basic idea of fucking. He knew he had to put his dick inside. That was about the end of it, but he had ideas. Joffrey imagined sex in animalistic terms. He wanted to coil around Sansa like the prey to his predator. He wanted to tear her to pieces and devour her body. He wanted to scare her. He wanted to mark her with his scent forever; he wanted to ruin her for the world. Because Cersei was right about one thing: If Joffrey had Sansa before their marriage, before she could bear him an heir, Sansa  _would_  be ruined if either of them told. Sansa would no longer be a maiden. But, Joffrey reasoned, if it was he who stripped her of that status, what was the difference anyway? She was to be his wife. She was his property anyway.

_However_... He stroked his chin in thought and swung one leg over the other, glad he had a proper place to do his deep thinking. If Joffrey went through with this plan and fucked Sansa, he wouldn't be able to boast. It would have to be a silent lesson to his mother, something he could think about when she infuriated him. Something he could keep a secret from her. And because Cersei hated when other people had secrets, most of all her family, Joffrey decided this was a wonderful plan.

During dinner, Joffrey stared at Sansa with a wildcat smile. He kept thinking,  _You. I'm going to have you for my own._ He'd long imagined sleeping with her but in his mind, it was different. In his mind, he knew everything there was to know and he did everything right. Now, he hated to admit he was finding himself doubting his abilities, obsessing over details. He studied her shimmering hair, her gown of deep green, and the ladylike way she held her hands and smiled dutifully at those around her. She caught him staring and gave him a respectful dip of her head. He looked at her fixedly, a look that said  _I have plans for you,_ and Sansa grew wary of him and broke eye contact. This should have granted him confidence, but Joffrey's hand shook slightly as he poured more wine. When Cersei patted his leg, he nearly spilt his goblet all over the plate of food before him. She whispered in his ear that she was sorry for her anger earlier and that she knew he'd take her advice.

Joffrey smiled widely at her, all the time thinking she was completely demented,  _as if_  this paltry peace offering would change his attitude.

 


	3. A Far Better Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Without your blood, you can be my amusement."

. . . 

JOFFREY

. . . 

 

The young king felt that time moved slower than ever that evening. He restlessly waited in his room until he heard the guards shifting position for the night. As quickly as he could, he made the walk toward the corridor that led to Sansa's chamber. He pressed his ear to her door to make certain she was alone, his footsteps echoing in the dim hallway.

"Hello?" she called out, her voice a high, nervous sound in the chill air. It sent a shiver of want through Joffrey and that was enough. He knew she was all by herself, knew she wouldn't sound so anxious if she was in the presence of some servant. He shoved the door open and strode inside, plastering a dark smile on his face to hide the twisted-up worm feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Ever courteous, on shaky knees Lady Sansa fell into a curtsy at once. "Your grace! I'm not decent!" she sputtered. It was true, he noted. She was anything but decent in comparison to their usual encounters, encounters that were often spoiled by snooping relatives and crowds of foolish onlookers. His lady was donning a white, flowing but slightly sheer nightgown that made Joffrey's breath catch in his throat. He could see the outline of her nipples dotting the curved lines of her full breasts, the wave where her waist met her hips, her bare legs and feet milky beneath. He was instantly reminded of having her partially stripped in court, but she'd been quick enough to hold her gown back before it fully exposed her breasts. Joffrey recalled the uncomfortable erection that had grown while Ser Boros and Ser Meryn proceeded to beat Sansa, her red, humiliated face hung in shame. And when Tyrion had interrupted, Joffrey had felt his insides drop, angry he hadn't been able to see Sansa's naked body. He'd gotten off that very night thinking about a progression of the scene, one that ended with her stripped and crying with bloody welts designing her naked back.

And then, Sansa spoke again, bringing him back to reality. "I thought… I thought we could not be alone. Where are your men, your grace?"

King Joffrey's mouth was open but no sound was coming out. For the past two hours, he'd rehearsed a speech in his head. It was grand and lengthy, detailing how Sansa was his just as much as all the palace horses, just as much as the Hound was his and the throne was his. ( _As much as the entire palace belongs to me, and everyone inside of it! Do you hear me?_  he would scream, and bring his hands to her throat before shoving himself inside her.) He was going to have Sansa there in the moonlight because he felt like it and there was nothing she could say to stop him. He was going to fuck her without caring, because kings could do what they pleased no matter what the rules were.

But now, all Joffrey could do was stare at Sansa's body. It was as though a very beautiful painting was being presented to him, and the artist had removed a sheet from the masterpiece with a flourish. Sansa without her layers of dress, skirts and ribbons and her hair down in loose curls around her thin shoulders was a very different Sansa indeed. Better than a fantasy. Innocent virgin Sansa, a much better prize for a king than two overused prostitutes. Beguiled by Sansa's curves, Joffrey suddenly felt young. Young and over-dressed.

"Please, your grace! It just doesn't seem right," Sansa said, eyes all wide like moons, and she covered her breasts with spread fingers.

"Shut up," Joffrey managed to get out in a vicious, spitty snarl. It was a good start, but instead of making the words come this demand halted them again. His tongue felt weighty. The back of his neck was damp with sweat, and he was starting to think perhaps this was something he could not do. But this personal challenge had to be overcome and so he drew a breath, Sansa giving him that wide and strange stare the entire time. He meant to deliver his speech but what came out was: " _They_  said. My  _mother_. She  _can't_. You are  _mine_. So I'm going to. I'm going to..."

Sansa backed up a pace, not taking her eyes off him. "I really can't understand you," she said. And then quickly, "I'm sorry, but-"

" _Shut up,_ I said!" he got out, and because it wasn't working to stand still, he made a move to attack. He clomped forward in his heavy boots (half-nervous someone would burst in to reprimand Sansa for making such noise and see him failing at rape of all things) and he seized her by her soft hair. Sansa made a squeal of protest and he held her in a strong grip, pressing his cheek against hers. Sansa's face was pleasantly smooth and he could feel her heart beating hard and fast in her chest. She whimpered and shut her eyes tight, shaking her head back and forth.

"I don't understand," she said, panicked. "We shouldn't be here together, it's indecent. It's improper. We're not married, your grace, please wait until we're married, your mother-"

"She can't control my life!" Joffrey said instantly. It was as though he'd forgotten his line in a performance in front of the court and Sansa had slipped him a subtle cue. "That's why we have to do this right now. Because I'm the king and the king can do as he pleases. The king can have who he wants, and I want you. I'm tired of waiting and I'm not going to bed a whore in the meantime. I refuse to lower myself, do you understand my words?"

"I don't understand," Sansa whimpered, her eyes still closed. "I'm so sorry, your grace—but I don't know what you mean to do—I can't offer you anything until I've had my blood—"

"Open your eyes when you're speaking to me," Joffrey hissed and gripped her chin with his fingernails.

Sansa cried out but complied, her blue eyes fluttering open, connecting with his shining jade stare. "Yes, your grace! I have not had my blood, I wouldn't be any use to you. Please wait, and I can give you an heir and-"

"It's not about an heir, don't you see, you stupid girl?" Joffrey interrupted, grabbing her lips with his fingers and squeezing them shut. "I want you because they say I can't have you yet—"

"There are reasons, your grace, it's not good for a king to do this to his future queen, it's bad luck—"

"You think I believe all of your make believe superstitions?" Joffrey sniggered, giving her a gentle pat on the cheek. "Sometimes I think you make all of them up to try and confuse me."

Sansa let out a shuddering sob. "I wouldn't do that," she trembled. "Besides, your grace? Don't you wish to wait? Wouldn't it please you more?"

"Did you hear about my Name Day present?" Joffrey asked conversationally, recalling his conversation with Mother while petting her face. "My uncle sent for two whores. They were waiting for me when I arrived in my bed chambers." He smiled fondly at the memory. "They were pretty."

"How nice for you," said Sansa in a quiet voice. "I hope you enjoyed yourself, your grace. You deserve to be happy."

"I  _did_ enjoy myself," Joffrey said. He ran one long finger across Sansa's freckle-dusted cheek. "Of course, I didn't go to bed with them. Tyrion wanted me to and I thought, why listen to someone else when I can have fun in the exact way I please? That's why I taught him a lesson." He flicked Sansa's face lazily with his nail. "Do you want to know  _how_ I taught him a lesson?"

"Yes, your grace. Very much," Sansa said with a dutiful nod.

"I had one of the girls beat the other senseless and then had her body dumped at Tyrion's door." He watched as Sansa's frightened gaze flicked about the room and fell back upon him. "You should have heard her cry. It was a very nice evening, all things considered."

"Is she alive?" Sansa bleated and then covered her own mouth.

Joffrey scowled. "That's not the point," he growled, wrenching her hand away. "I'm not my father. I won't climb into bed with every half-witted slut who parades about my room with her cunt out."

"I suppose that's very dignified of you," Sansa said, averting her gaze once more. Her face looked flushed. She was shaking.

"You suppose?" asked Joffrey, the gentle tone of his voice harshly clashing with the strength he used to grip her hair.

Sansa gasped for air. "I'm sorry, your grace, I don't mean… You  _are_ dignified, you're not your father at all!"

_"Don't_ speak ill of my father," Joffrey said. "He was foolish with women. He loved them far too much. I'm a fighter like him, but I did not wish to bed those whores," he said while he twisted a curl of her hair around his finger in thought. The more he heard her breath catch in her throat, her scared tone of voice, the more deeply he wanted her. He wasn't sure just how to start so he bided more time with his words. He leaned into her ear, feeling his knees trembling slightly in anticipation. "I also didn't want to waste my first time on them when I knew I could have you." He threw Sansa a somewhat bashful grin. "Do you remember what we did earlier that day?"

She drew a breath and shook her head. "I don't think so, I'm sorry—"

"It's alright. I can help you recall. That was the day I had Ser Boros strip you in front of the court," Joffrey smiled. "Then I had Ser Merys beat you." His voice was excited and boyish as his hand traveled down to the small of her back. It felt grown-up to tell a pretty girl such a private thought. "I had wanted to see more and I was quite disappointed when Tyrion spoiled my plans. I couldn't stop thinking of you, Sansa."  _Tied-up, crying, beaten bloody, my hands inside your—_

"Thank you, your grace," Sansa said, but her voice pitch was stiff and formal and her eyes were dull.

"I said,  _I couldn't stop thinking of you,_ " Joffrey hissed loudly into her ear, ignoring the twitch of hardness that was beginning to stir inside his breeches.

Sansa shuddered and stepped back another pace so she was pressed up against the wall, her small hands fluttering nervously at her sides like dying doves. "I was thinking about you, too," she whispered. "I was afraid you were too angry with me. I don't want you to be angry. I want you to be happy, your grace. It's what I care about most—keeping you in a good mood."

"What you care about most?" Joffrey snapped, stepping to the wall and placing his hand at her waist, squeezing her there. She let out a shrill noise of protest. "You care more about keeping me in a good mood than you care about your family? You care more for me than your fool brother? More than your dead traitorous father?" He stared at her attentively, his other hand moving to her cheek again.

"Yes," Sansa nodded, a small sob spilling from her lips. "Yes, I love you and I just want you happy—that's all I care about now."

"Good," Joffrey nodded, "very good. I was a bit worried that you were still holding your father's death against me." He moved his mouth to her ear and breathed in slowly, gripping Sansa harder by her waist. To his great interest, she gave a small moan. "I like this," he whispered, fingering the hem of her nightgown. "You look lovely."

"Thank you, my king," she said in a low voice, "but I still don't know why you're here—"

"Without your blood, you can be my amusement," Joffrey replied. "I want to see whether you're good enough for marriage, Sansa. I want to know how you feel. Don't you want to?"

"I'm not ready," she muttered, her hands gripping the wall as if she were saving it from toppling down. "It would be wrong, don't you think?"

"I thought you wanted to please me," he whined. "Were you lying?"

"No," Sansa said at once, shaking her head. "I don't lie, not to my king, not to anyone."

"I don't care whether or not you lie to someone else! As long as you're honest with me, Sansa—that's all I care about—"

"That's obvious," his beautiful girl nodded with a smile on her face. "Of course I'm completely honest with you!"

"Good," Joffrey said, and sighed into her neck. Sansa gave another trembling moan and leaned her head back against the wall, her eyes shutting tightly. Joffrey gripped her hair again. "Eyes open," he commanded. She obeyed in an instant. "I imagine you're simply nervous. Don't be. I'll help you. After all," he said grandly," I know what I'm doing."

Sansa's eyes flashed. "Have you had a lot of experience, your grace?" she asked in a tone Joffrey could not interpret.

"What does that mean?" he snapped. "You think I haven't?"

"I didn't say that," Sansa replied. "I know my brother Rob is admired by young ladies and I was just thinking that you are probably like him in that way." She wore a vacant expression.

He narrowed his eyes at her for a moment before deciding there was nothing to fight about. It seemed she was telling the truth. After all, he  _did_ know a few things. More than Sansa, that much he was certain of. He knew if he was going to do this, he'd have to not over think it. He needed to take action. He bit his lip and sucked in air before slipping his right hand into the tight gap between her legs. "I'm not your traitor brother. I'm better than him," he said breathlessly.

"Please don't," Sansa whispered as he put his opposite hand on her thigh.

"Would you rather someone else be doing this?" Joffrey snapped, trailing his hand up to her private place. She shook her head firmly from side to side. "Good. I thought not," he said, and palmed her genitals, excited by the feel of her springy pubic hair against his hand. "Nothing on underneath," he said quietly into her ear and she shuddered. "I like it. I like it a lot, Sansa." In one forceful move, he shoved his fingers against her slightly damp skin, trying to find her opening. She let out a sound of surprise as he grappled for the entrance and finally he found it, a small, very tight hole. He pushed one finger inside her and Sansa yelped. The hole suctioned his finger. It was slightly wet against him. He grunted appreciatively, hoping he hadn't given himself away as a novice.

Joffrey began to move his finger in and out of her, slowly at first, and then he quickened the pace. His tongue between his teeth, he added another finger. Then another. She shrieked and covered her mouth. "Does it hurt?" he asked intensely, studying her somber face.

Sansa nodded. "It hurts very much," she said quietly, holding his eye contact. Tears were creeping into the corners of her eyes, twinkling crystals. "I'm sorry, but I can't lie to you—"

"I understand," he said, pausing in the in-out motion. With his free hand, he took her hand from her mouth and kissed it lightly. "Don't cover your screams," he said sweetly with an earnest grin. "I want to hear them." Again, he pushed his fingers in and out of her, exhilarated by the feeling of her muscle wrapping around them, closing them in. He kissed the corner of her mouth, pushing his entire hand inside her now. He looked to Sansa but she'd set her jaw and was staring blankly ahead. "Am I not doing it hard enough, my lady? What about _this_?" Joffrey snarled, and thrust his entire hand in with a hasty, vigorous shove.

Sansa cried loudly, her thighs pressing to his wrist. "It hurts," she gasped. "Your grace, please—"

"Please  _what?"_ Joffrey smiled, not ceasing in pushing his hand in and out of her. He groaned at the feeling of wetness coating his skin. He was fully hard now and pressed against Sansa's hip. He wondered if she could feel him, if she even knew what it was.

"Please, I can't—it's too much," she said in a sob, shaking her head. Joffrey pushed into her again, harder. Sansa wailed.

"Yes," Joffrey said greedily, "that's good, that's very good." He could feel his hardness pulsing, pressing against his trousers. Every whine was beautiful; every shriek helped him get closer to the edge. "Touch me," he said sharply.

Sansa gave him a confused look. "Touch you where?"

"The front of my breeches," Joffrey snapped into her ear, pulling his hand out of her in a ruthless tug. She breathed out loudly and slowly extended her arm. Unable to wait, he snatched her hand in his and pressed it to his hard groin. "I love the way you scream," he moaned, his eyes half-closed as Sansa tentatively placed her hand over him, still trembling and breathing hard. "Move your hand up and down," he said. "Now." She complied, slowly stroking him, her brows furrowed. His breath caught in his throat and his eyes fluttered shut for a moment.  _This is how it should be,_ he thought, breathing hard,  _I'm in charge of her. Nothing like that stupid whore who tried to best me by touching me before I told her to._ Not wanting to show her how excited he was, he pulled her hand away after only a few seconds, gripping her fingers. Sansa let out a cry. "Pull up your gown," he said.

Sansa fixed him with a fearful look. "My king?"

"Do as I say," he replied curtly. If he thought too hard about this, he wouldn't go through with it. He'd be too preoccupied with the power play, the fact that Sansa had made him erect—but she was naïve enough, he reasoned. She didn't even understand what she'd done. She wouldn't know she had power over him. And after this, he'd have  _all_ the power.

Tentatively, Sansa drew up her nightgown over her privates, not meeting his eyes. Her shoulders shook and she was crying softly. Joffrey's breath caught in his throat as he inadvertently palmed his erection through his clothes. This was the spot his hands had just been inside, this secret and wet place between Sansa Stark's legs. He liked the auburn pubes and the way her legs twitched with fear as he gazed upon her. In this moment, he wanted to be inside her very much.  _Too much._

"Turn around," he said. "Face the wall."

"Y-yes, your grace," Sansa sputtered and, crying louder, she did as she was told. The fullness of her backside with her red curls cascading down her shoulders was almost worse than seeing her from the front.

Joffrey cleared his throat and walked a pace backward. "I'm going to return!" he said defiantly, "but you won't know when! But when I do, mark my words, I'm going to take your maidenhead. I'm going to be so rough with you, you won't even be able to walk!" With that, Joffrey turned on his heel and stormed out of Sansa's chambers, slamming the door behind him.

_A far better plan,_ he convinced himself as he tried to both shield his erection and catch his breath.  _This way, she knows what's going to happen to her and you can make her wait days. Weeks, if you feel like it! When you finally burst through the door of her chambers, she'll scream even louder with fear because she's been thinking about you all day and night, praying you'll be merciful with her._ _And when you do go back there, you'll be ready to take what is yours from Lady Sansa._

 


	4. Monster in Boy's Clothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa receives instruction from her handmaiden and Joffrey swoops in for the kill.

__"Sick, sick, holding onto his picture/ Dressing up every day.__  
I want to smash the faces of those beautiful boys/ those Christian boys  
So you can make me cum? It doesn't make you Jesus."  
  
\- TORI AMOS, "Precious Things"

* * *

. . .

SANSA

. . .

* * *

"Repeat what you just said, and be slow about it. Take your time," said Shae in a warm and gentle tone, a tone like fresh bread dipped in warm honey. Shae's kindness only made Sansa feel more flustered, and she continued to cry softly into her handmaiden's shoulder. It was the morning after King Joffrey's impromptu visit in her chambers and Sansa had been up half the night, both worrying he'd come back and confused about the implications of his actions. When she had eventually fallen asleep, she'd had bizarre, darkly painted nightmares, and had woken up with a shriek to find Shae already at work in her room. At once, Shae had moved in to comfort her, and Sansa was currently trying to piece her thoughts into actual words. After all, she'd never been touched like that in her life. When she touched herself she did so lightly and tentatively, nervous she'd be caught in the act. Joffrey's hand had been long-fingered and strong, and had felt foreign inside of her. What Sansa hated most was that his mouth on hers had almost felt good, and his breath in her ear had made her moan aloud. She despised King Joffrey even more for that fact. She wanted to slap herself.

Joffrey was hideous. At first, he'd seemed charming, handsome and kind. He'd shared wine with her. He'd complimented her looks and he'd been a perfect conversationalist. He was the most attractive boy Sansa had ever seen. But she'd been tricked by his pretty outer shell. He was solely responsible for the death of her beloved father, and his cruelty had started a war which could very well end up killing her elder brother Rob. Not to mention, Arya loathed Sansa and for good reason—and now, Arya was missing. Sansa's entire life had spiraled out of control and her family was torn apart, all because she fell in love with a boy, a terrible, toxic bad-boy. A monster in boy's clothing. Sansa drew a shuddering breath, her hands woven through Shae's hair. "He came in here, Shae—I had no way of stopping him. He told me he would have me because I was his—and he put—" she stopped and sniffed, wiping her eyes. "He put his hand down there and I was so afraid! I thought he was going to—"

"Sansa, slower," Shae urged, and took the girl's hands in hers, holding her in a gentle grip and locking eyes with her. "Who? Who came in here?"

Sansa pursed her lips and looked at the crimson rug on the floor. "King Joffrey," she whispered, afraid someone was watching. It seemed Sansa was never alone, not really.

"Did he hurt you, my girl?" Shae asked in a soft tone, fixing Sansa with a sympathetic look that almost made it all worse.

"It hurt at first," Sansa nodded, "but it was the surprise that was worst—"

"Did he put himself inside you? His…" Shae paused. "I'm sorry, but, his cock?"

Sansa clenched Shae's shoulders and buried her hot face in her hair. "No, no, he didn't. Thank the gods, he didn't. But he says he's coming back. He's going to spoil me, Shae! If I'm not a maiden, he'll tell his mother and I'll be unfit for marriage, unfit for anything here! He'll have me killed, most likely, after he's done!"

"He's not allowed to do that," Shae said strongly, shaking her head as though arguing with an unseen entity. "You must tell the queen! Go now and tell her what he's done to you—"

"And what?" Sansa laughed sardonically despite herself. "You think the queen will believe my word over Joffrey's? She  _hates_ me, Shae, you know she hates me!"

"Then I will tell the queen—"

"You weren't even here—"

-"I'll say I saw him leaving your chambers—"

"And you think she'd believe a handmaiden more than she'd believe me? Likely she'd have you killed for that. Joffrey will say you're a liar," Sansa replied. "You can't say anything. I won't have you punished for this!"

"There's someone I can tell," Shae said determinedly in a quiet voice. "He will help you. He is on your side, he hates the king—"

"Who?" demanded Sansa, her face blushing hot red at the thought of anyone, especially a man, being told this humiliating story.

"I cannot say. But he would help. I can talk to him later today, if you—"

"No." Sansa set her jaw and took her hands from Shae's, crossing her arms. "I can't let anyone know. We cannot risk it. No one will take my word over his."

"Let me see," Shae said thoughtfully, mirroring Sansa and crossing her own arms. Her brows were furrowed in thought. "How can I help you? Do you want a bath?"

"Not yet," Sansa said firmly. "I am not ready to move." The two young women sat in silence for several minutes until Sansa gingerly touched Shae's arm. "I don't mean to pry, but you are not a maiden. Are you?"

"Is it so obvious?" Shae smiled, and gave a quiet chortle.

"I'm not being rude," Sansa put in quickly, hoping she had not offended, "but you know things. About men? I can tell. You're confident."

"I've had many experiences with men. I'm far from a maiden, my lady. I've never been forced to lie with a spoiled boy king, but I've been in situations I haven't been proud of. I've been used by men. You learn to do a lot of things if you want to stay alive." Shae's tone was light but her face was solemn. "If you wish for me not to speak about this, I will keep it to myself. But I can give you my own suggestions. It may help you, though I am afraid for you. The king has dramatic moods and I can't know for certain what he'll do. Or if he'll do anything at all."

"Oh, please," Sansa whispered, grabbing Shae's arm and holding her fast. "Please, tell me anything! Everything!"

Shae drew a breath. "We'll need to be very careful. I fear for your safety, my lady. But I still want you to trust me and come to me if you need anything at all. You are not alone with me here. I will act as if I know nothing. I do not see the king often but when I do, I blend into my surroundings to save my own life. I shall continue to act in the same way." Sansa nodded, understanding her handmaiden's grave tone of voice. "He may try to hurt you," Shae went on, "and he may very well succeed. But you can master the art of escape."

Sansa leaned in, hanging on every word. "What do you mean?"

"If he does use you for sex, you can try to get out of your head. Go somewhere you like, anywhere you like, and stay there until he's had his fill. It helps to forget. It doesn't take away the pain, but it can keep you safe up here," Shae said, and patted the top of Sansa's head.

"It will hurt much worse than his hand, won't it?" Sansa asked, and then as an afterthought, "if he wants to… take my maidenhead?"

"It should not hurt after your maidenhead breaks, but if the king is rough, it may continue to hurt. I can only hope his actions are less fearsome than his words," Shae said, and by the way she voiced this, Sansa had a feeling Shae believed Joffrey  _would_ be rough. After all, why wouldn't he? He was an angry boy who made rash, hateful decisions. Gone were Sansa's fantasies of making slow, sweet love with her blond-haired prince. As soon as Joffrey had displayed his true self, she'd replaced those hopeful, infantile dreams with the stuff of night terrors. Joffrey was more likely to sprout claws than treat Sansa with respect. Although she wasn't exactly certain how love-making was supposed to go, she had figured Joffrey wouldn't be terribly concerned with romance, not even with the future mother of his children. Especially now.

And his story about the two prostitutes had made Sansa's skin crawl. Who was to say he wouldn't do something similar to her? He wasn't supposed to hurt her but he'd obviously decided he was above the queen's rules.  _Leave her face,_ he'd said last week before his men had beaten her,  _I like her pretty._ Sansa had clung to that like a drowning man clings to a rock, hoping that perhaps Joffrey had some shred of care for her, even if it was completely for vanity's sake. ( _He still thinks I'm pretty,_ she'd thought, and then cursed herself for being an idiot, wondered if she was going mad.) But now, it had a hopeful connotation. He might rape her, but he likely wouldn't beat her until she was unconscious or bloody. Or at least, he'd refrain from beating in her face. At these morbid thoughts, Sansa began to cry again. What a bleak life, rejoicing in the fact that (perhaps) her betrothed wouldn't smash her head in.

Shae took her by the shoulders and stood her up, encompassing her in a hug. Sansa cried harder at her handmaiden's kindness. At least she had someone who cared, but it reminded her of her mother, and thus made it all more sad. "What if he ruins me?" Sansa cried.

"If he takes your maidenhead, he takes it. But he'll never ruin you. You are strong, my lady. You can leave your mind and go somewhere good, somewhere he cannot reach you. You can make like someone else is touching you, someone pleasant and kind and loving. You can invent and pretend. These are all things I can help you with, but we should not dwell now. Come," Shae said with an abrupt nod. "I shall give you a bath and we'll wash him off you. I will tell you a funny story."

Sansa smiled through her tears and wiped her face but dread flowed through her still because she knew, despite Shae's kind words, that King Joffrey would not be washed off so easily.

* * *

. . .

JOFFREY

. . .

* * *

It had been a distressing morning for Joffrey, whose thoughts had not strayed from the encounter with Lady Sansa for more than ten seconds. He'd gotten off quickly last night after reaching his chambers and had collapsed, exhausted, into his blankets. He'd avoided conversation with his mother and siblings at breakfast, and he'd spent time pacing the hallways. Uncle Tyrion found him later that afternoon perched languidly in the throne, all splayed limbs, planning his next move with the Stark girl.

"Ah," Uncle Imp had said in mock fondness. "Our highly revered ruler hard at work, I see! I am here to see that you are devoting yourself to kingly duties and I can tell you are outdoing yourself. You certainly look official. I assume you are deliberating over which defensive methods to use during the impending attack on your kingdom?"

Joffrey scowled deeply and swung his legs over the arm rest. "You're interrupting me. Get away and let me think!"

"Oh, but I'm quite interested in your thoughts. What is it that buzzes through your turbulent mind, I wonder? Scholars would piss themselves with excitement if they were fortunate enough to be tasked with picking at your impenetrable psyche!"

"Are you being sarcastic?" demanded Joffrey, squinting at his uncle.

"Sarcastic? Me? Never," clucked Uncle Imp, striding forward on his short legs. "What is it that vexes you so? I hardly ever see you without a maniacal grin on your face. Despite myself, I must say I  _am_ a bit intrigued. Or, more to the point, nervous. Could it be you actually care about something? How frightening." He approached the throne. "What is it, my dear nephew?"

Though Joffrey wanted to ask what "maniacal" meant, he did not want to give his daft uncle the pleasure of besting him. "Personal issues," he said delicately, flopping back onto the throne and sighing deeply. "You wouldn't understand."

"No, I trust I would not," said Uncle Imp pleasantly. "However, nephew, do yourself a favor and sit up straight. If you are going to pretend to be preoccupied, at least be a bit more convincing."

Glowering, Joffrey flexed his fists and began to shout: "You cannot tell me what to do! I am your king! I tell  _you_ what to do!"

His uncle merely shrugged as he walked away. "I hope your personal issues get solved faster than the matters I am about to address with your mother. And if you do come up with a battle plan do let us know,  _your grace._ " The last two words were laced with bitterness and Joffrey felt his body surge with rage. He wished he could order for his uncle to be tortured slowly, but mother had forbade it. Furthermore, she had made it clear that Grandfather Tywin would not enjoy it if his appointed Hand was maimed or tortured. Everyone was constantly spoiling fun around King's Landing.

Joffrey frowned, but did sit up a bit straighter as his thoughts floated back to Sansa in her transparent nightgown. Though he thought it would have been a very quick ordeal, it had been surprisingly difficult to go through with fucking his lady. He told himself that this was only because he was highborn and thus unable to simply take what he wanted and leave. Joffrey wanted to make Sansa wait ages for his return but his insides were a fluttery mess, and he knew he had to return to her chambers tonight. He wanted to be inside her and he could not wait another day.

. . .

* * *

Once the clock had struck midnight, Joffrey stole into the hallway and tried not to over think his actions. He swept past several guards who quickly stood to attention. When he slipped into Sansa's corridor, he detected a figure near the end of the hallway. Once he'd neared her doorway, he recognized it was his Hound who stood so still there, casting a colossal shadow on the stone floor. Joffrey snorted. "What are you doing so far from my chambers, Dog?"

"Patrolling the castle, as usual," the man said in a low voice, his contorted face even more grisly in the dark. "And you, my king? The hour is late."

"I don't need to answer questions like that. You are dismissed. Go chase your tail somewhere else," leered Joffrey, waving his hand. The ugly Dog dipped his head obediently and strode down the hall, fixing Joffrey with a somber glance as he passed him. As soon as the Hound was out of sight, Joffrey drew a deep breath and flung open Sansa's door.

This time, she was sitting on her bed clutching a hairbrush in hand and staring toward the doorway as if she had been expecting him. "Good evening, your grace," she said quietly, and stood up to give a deep curtsy.

"Did you ask for my Hound to stand guard at your door?" Joffrey snarled at once, without meaning to let the words fall from his mouth.

Sansa shook her head quickly. "No! Why, your grace?"

"He was just outside! Did you tell someone about last night?" Joffrey couldn't stop these words from coming. They were sharp and sounded jealous, suspicious.

"I told him nothing," Sansa said, her voice wavering. "I wouldn't say a thing. I promised you. I'm loyal to you!"

A small smirk coiled on Joffrey's lips as he calmed down, gulping deep breaths. He tried to ignore his sweaty palms. "Yes, I expect you are. Tell me, have you been thinking of me?"

"I've thought of little else, your grace," Sansa said in a soft voice, averting her eyes. He beamed at her words. Tonight, she was wearing a long, blue nightdress that brought out her eyes and made her Tully hair shine even brighter.

"You look nice," he remarked, stepping forward. She nodded politely, and he noticed her legs shaking. "Sit down, my lady. Am I frightening you?"

Sansa looked up at him, almost as though she was reading him and she dropped the brush to her side as she sat. "I—don't—know," she said. "Sometimes."

"I'm asking if I'm frightening you now," Joffrey said crisply and sat next to her on the bed, his heart beginning to race.

"It depends. Do you want to hurt me?" Sansa questioned, her head raised as she watched something other than his face.

Joffrey took her by the chin and turned her to face him as she let out a panicked yelp. "I will hurt you if you don't please me," he told her in a kind voice.

"But I wish to please you, your grace. I want you to be happy with me," Sansa replied quickly.

"Kiss me, then," Joffrey said, and his eyes flashed. Sansa hesitated, so Joffrey grabbed her throat and drove his tongue into her lips, prying them apart. She cried out into his mouth and then quieted down; she was a fly being wound up into a succulent silk package for a starving spider. She tasted sweet and when he touched her tongue with his he felt a shock through his core. Hungrily, Joffrey kissed her deeper and pawed at her breasts, his breath catching in his throat as he felt himself going hard. "Sansa," he muttered, pausing in tonguing her. "Trousers. Undo my trousers."

She stared at him wildly, her face fearful in the flickering candlelight. He was impatient. He didn't have time for deliberation now. He wanted to be inside her; he wanted to rip her to shreds, eat her up and spit her back out again. "Please don't hurt me," she gasped as Joffrey gripped the strap of her nightgown and shoved her backward onto the dark maroon bedding. The sounds she made reminded him of someone but who?  He couldn't place it, so he drove that thought from his mind.

"Command me again and I'll stick it in you so hard you'll be crying for me to stop," he said with a hint of jubilation to his high voice as he un-buttoned his trousers and pulled off his leggings so that all that remained was his black tunic. Sansa watched him wide-eyed with one hand to the bottom of her nightclothes and his face felt a bit warm as he saw her eyes surveying his cock. By now it was standing straight up. He wanted to ask her questions like,  _have you seen one before,_ or  _do I look how you imagined,_ or even  _have you_ ever  _imagined me like this_  but such questions wouldn't sound good coming from him. He was a king, not a child.

So instead, he held his firm hardness in his hand and fumbled onto the bed. He put his legs on either side of Sansa and pulled her nightgown over her slender , soft stomach. She let out a soft wail that he muffled with a kiss, his lips solid on hers as he tried to direct himself inside her. His fingers grappled for that secret spot, that wet opening, and he moaned aloud when he found it. He pushed all of his hand inside, smiling broadly.  _I'm doing it,_ he thought.  _I'm doing it!_  

Sansa screamed into his mouth and he moaned again hoarsely in reply, pleased. He replaced his fingers with his hardness and shoved it through her core. Her cunt was warm, tight, and surrounded him completely.  He grunted and felt butterflies inside his chest.  His arms tingled, hands gripping the bedding as he savored her insides.  

"Oh Sansa," he found himself saying, "That feels very good." When he met her eyes, she was staring up at with her mouth slightly ajar. Tears shimmered down her pretty face and dripped off her chin as Joffrey slowly thrust into her. He gritted his teeth and gripped the bed covering, bucking into her a bit harder. "Doesn't it?" he asked harshly.

"It hurts," she whispered, her eyes finding his again. "It really hurts."

Joffrey ignored her and tenderly kissed the nape of her neck as he moved in and out of her as slowly as he could. He could already feel pressure building, but he didn't want it to end—not yet. He ran one hand through her hair and quickened the pace of his thrusts as small, deep noises of approval left his mouth. "You aren't happy. How can I make my lady happy," he muttered (it was not really a question, after all), and kissed her earlobe, breathing heavily as he began a hurried movement.  _In-out-in-out-in-out-in-out._

Sansa squirmed and moaned as Joffrey licked her neck, his breath moving in a line from beneath her ear to her chin, down to her collarbone. "That—feels—nice," she got out, and Joffrey decided he'd believe her. He wasn't sure if Sansa was just trying to please him but he imagined, as with everything else, he was very talented at this. He bared his teeth on her neck, nibbling her and enjoying her responsive squeals and squirms. He wasn't going to be long now, and he sunk his teeth into her shoulder blade, rejoicing in the loud howl of pain that Sansa released into his ear. He laughed lightly and quickened his pace, driving himself into her, when she let out another shuddering cry.

That was too much for Joffrey; he seized up, his teeth closing around the soft skin of her neck. Sansa gasped, her eyes full of question as he whimpered lightly, his eyes rolling to the ceiling. He felt his orgasm pulse throughout him as he came in her, breath coming out in pants. When the tremors of pleasure subsided, he freed her skin from his mouth, his blond hair tousled and slightly damp from perspiration. He kissed her neck again as he softened inside her. As soon as he pulled out and glanced down, he smiled proudly at his emission running like dew down her inner thigh. A thin layer of blood covered his cock and he noticed that her nightgown was stained bright red in several places. She was marked with him. The smell of the maiden's blood made his mouth water as much as it sickened him. Without really thinking, he shoved his hand up between her legs again. Sansa screamed, and Joffrey removed his hand to see it coated in slick redness.

Sansa seemed speechless as she watched his face, legs shaky and jaw slack. She did not speak as he pulled up his underclothes, leggings and trousers. She watched quietly as he fixed his tunic. She stayed silent when he ran a hand through his hair, throwing a triumphant glance at the reflection of himself in her bedside mirror.

"Burn the nightgown," he said loudly, breaking the quiet. Sansa jumped as if she'd forgotten speaking was an option. There was a purple bruise beginning on her throat, he noticed with satisfaction. "And take care to cover your neck until that bruise has gone. I'm afraid I got a bit carried away. It's no matter, though. You're mine. You were mine before but now you're _really_ mine," he said with a laugh and leaned in to kiss her forehead. "And don't tell anyone, or I will accuse you of lying and you'll be killed." He leaned in and flecked her cheek teasingly. "Oh, and please do me the kindness of sitting by my side at dinner this entire week. I like you in red, and I like your hair this way."

"My king?" Sansa finally spoke, her voice small and wavering.

"What is it?" Joffrey asked, pausing at the doorway.

"Did I satisfy you? That is, will you be kind to me?" she asked in a wavering voice, lowering her eyes.

Joffrey smiled. "I'm very satisfied-"

Sansa smiled back at him, mouth convulsing, the remnants of tears still glistening on her face.

"-For now," he finished. When he shut the door, he swore he heard her sobbing again but that was not a surprise. Sansa was a girl, and girls were overly emotional. Joffrey decided she was likely lamenting her bloody nightgown.  _The simple worries of women._

Once in his chambers, he disrobed and fell into bed. He'd thought he would be beyond spent, but he couldn't stop looking at his stained hands and privates. He replayed Sansa's sobs in his head and was soon erect again. He brought himself to orgasm only minutes later, sticky with come and the blood of Sansa's maidenhead. Lethargically, he cleaned up as best as he could and then fell into a deep slumber. When he woke up the next morning, he had to admit there was only one thing on his mind: Sansa Stark, his very own toy.

How could he know what he'd started, what lay ahead?

 


	5. What He Loves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hound steps in, much to Sansa's confusion. Just another person to be wary of.

JOFFREY

* * *

 

 

It was nearly fifteen minutes after he had been seated at the dining table with his mother and siblings, but there was no sign of Sansa Stark. His nerves were all distorted and had been since morning. He was no longer a virgin. He'd thought it would make him feel drastically different but here he was, as usual, sitting to dinner with his stupid family. Still, every time he looked at Cersei he felt hotness pulse throughout his body; he had a secret, a big secret. And Mother would never have the satisfaction of knowing.  
Joffrey was looking forward to seeing if Sansa complied with his orders. He wanted to see her in a dress as red as her maiden's blood, that pretty crimson that had stained his dick and hands that smelled of private, dark places. He was aching to see her face. Would she be terrified of him? Worshipful of him? He couldn't decide which was better. Both would be nice. Tommen went to grab his goblet and Joffrey slapped his hand down. "Not yet," he instructed viciously, "and no one else had better start, either!"

"Joffrey," said Mother while raising a flaxen brow, "be polite at the table, please."

"I  _am_ ," he whined. "It would be rude to start without my lady, would it not?"

"My dear, Sansa takes her meals in her room on the nights you decide to join us as you requested when you took the crown. You were very clear about that—"

"Yes, I know that,  _Mother,_ " Joffrey scowled. _"_ You think I cannot remember my own orders? Tonight I decided I want her here so where is she?" He smacked the table. Myrcella and Tommen were very careful not to meet his eyes.

"You requested her presence for dinner? How interesting," Mother put in, snapping her fingers. A slight, dark-haired handmaiden stepped in to pour Cersei and Joffrey goblets of wine.

"Yes, Mother," he nodded, trying to disguise a sneer as an innocent grin. "I felt it would be an appropriate way to honor my betrothed. She ought to dine here with my family. Doesn't that sound good?"

His mother fixed him with a smile. "It does indeed, Joffrey. How nice that Lady Sansa will be joining us from now on—"

"Well, for this week. And further if I decide I like it this way."

"What caused this change of heart?"

Joffrey shrugged, masking a smirk. "Does a king need to explain himself?"

"I love Sansa!" Myrcella said eagerly. "I want her to dine with us every night! Joff, please! Please!"

"That's for me to decide!" Joffrey barked. "Now stop babbling. I cannot stand to hear your voice."

Myrcella's eyes widened and she put her hands in her lap. "Well, I still love her," she said quietly.

"I'm hungry, Joffy! Please, can we eat?" Tommen begged, attempting to make an angelic face that Joffrey wanted to smack right off him. He was about to say so when a voice broke the tension.

"My deepest apologies for being late, your grace," came a voice from the entrance. Joffrey's heart leapt with excitement as he turned to face her. Lady Sansa stepped in, gorgeous in a crimson gown. The Hound came in behind her, frowning dully at everyone as always. Sansa's hair was parted and set in loose curls that tumbled over her shoulders. She'd carefully strung a red ribbon a few times around her neck. He deeply desired to see the bruise he knew lay buried beneath. Sansa curtsied.

He stood up with a thin smile, hiding his pleasure at seeing Sansa by narrowing his eyes. "What held you up so long? Was it my Dog? Did he get lost on the way?" Joffrey chortled. The Hound crossed his arms, a stern expression on his mutilated face.

"No, your grace. My hair," Sansa said with a small laugh. "I was so afraid I wouldn't look good enough for you that I forced my handmaiden to rearrange my curls."

"Ah, how typical. Hair and the like seems to take precedence over being timely when it comes to girls ," Joffrey commented in a bored tone, rolling his eyes. "Still, she's done a fine job on you, my lady."

"You look beautiful!" admired Myrcella in a squeak.

"She does indeed," commented Cersei with a nod.

Sansa bowed her head. "Thank you, princess. Thank you, your grace.

"Please sit down," Joffrey nodded, gesturing to the open chair beside him. "Your looks are to my liking. I forgive you for your lateness."

"That pleases me more than anything," Sansa said formally before sitting between Cersei and Joffrey. Joffrey gave her a closer inspection and his heart raced.  _Just last night, I was inside you,_ he thought.  _And I can go back inside of you anytime I please because you are mine, mine, mine!_

"Can we eat please, Joffy?" asked Tommen with bright, eager eyes.

"Yes, yes," Joffrey said, trying to mask his exasperation at his siblings' outrageously immature behavior as the handmaiden poured Sansa a goblet of wine. "Did you do anything of interest today, Sansa?"

Sansa shook her head, cutting a piece of mutton pie and keeping her eyes on her plate. "Nothing really, your grace." Joffrey admired the curve of her breasts.

"Are you bored, little dove?" Mother asked, smiling at Sansa. "Shall we find you activities to better make use of your time?"

Looking horrified, Sansa shook her head. "No, your grace—I'm sorry! I wasn't bored in the least. I read poetry during my lesson and I sketched the flowers in the garden."

"That's very nice, Sansa," nodded Mother approvingly, but Joffrey raised up his hand.

"I don't think it's too terrible an idea to help my lady occupy her time." He turned to Sansa and gave her a charming smile. "You could be doing so much more around King's Landing. We could go riding. I could show you the secret hiding spots in the gardens and take you on walks to give you the best views!"

"I want to go!" cheered Tommen.

"Sh," Myrcella said with a flip of her blonde hair. "They're in love and won't want you there. Right, Sansa? You love my brother, don't you? Do you think he's the most handsome boy you've ever seen?"

"Oh, Myrcella," laughed Cersei and patted the girl's hand. Sansa paled a bit and looked downward.

"Answer my sister's question," Joffrey urged, trying to hide the impatience that tinged his voice. He took his dinner knife off the table and discreetly held it in his lap.

Sansa turned to face him and gave him a smile. "Yes, your grace. Your features are undeniably handsome."

Joffrey smirked, preening like a peacock, and casually trailed the knife up Sansa's knee, being careful not to apply too much pressure. Just enough. "The most handsome?" he asked. With a clatter, Sansa dropped her fork and knife to her plate. Joffrey grinned and drew back the knife into his lap. "Answer me," he said firmly.

"Yes, your grace," she whispered, her voice trembling. "The most handsome."

"And you'd like to go riding with me?" Joffrey pressed, his fingers settling on Sansa's leg and grabbing her there with his nails, hard. He felt the very start of an erection budding between his legs.

"Very much," she whimpered, staring straight ahead.

"What's wrong, Sansa?" asked Myrcella. "You look afraid—"

"More wine," Cersei commanded, and the handmaiden headed to table. Joffrey snapped his hand off Sansa's lap as quickly as he could.

Sansa gave a small laugh. "Nothing is wrong," she said. "I'm looking forward to riding with my king."

"You look like you're upset!" Myrcella continued.

"Shut up," Joffrey snarled. "Do you ever stop talking?"

"I'm not upset," Sansa reassured Myrcella in a soft tone. She smiled. The rest of the meal was pleasantly quiet. Joffrey was happy that his siblings ceased in their noise-making in favor of eating their supper. He was looking forward to horseback riding with Sansa. It would allow them to have time to themselves and although he figured it might be too risky to fuck Sansa out in the open, he could certainly do with some kissing and touching while no one was watching. At the end of supper, Sansa rose to be escorted back to her chambers by the Hound. Joffrey smiled and patted her arm and was pleased when Sansa jumped.

"It's so nice to see you two getting along." Mother leaned over to look at Joffrey. "I really must know the reason for this sudden change of heart."

Joffrey gave his mother a pleasant look and shrugged his shoulders. "You were right, Mother. Sansa and I are to be wed and I've been behaving badly. I decided it would not hurt me to take your advice." The Hound muttered something under his breath that Joffrey could not quite catch. At once, Joffrey wheeled around to face his dog, glowering deeply.

* * *

 

SANSA

 

* * *

_"You'd much rather hurt the little bird instead."_

Sansa felt her body go rigid at the Hound's muttered words. She was rooted to the spot, though she wanted to show him she'd heard him, that she'd understood. She wondered if he knew what had had happened between herself and King Joffrey last night. Her maidenhead was gone and there was still a faint pressure between her legs where Joffrey had visited. Sansa and Shae had spent the early morning scrubbing blood from the coverlet, and burning Sansa's nightgown as the king had suggested. Had the Hound seen? Had one of the queen's spies already spread the word ( _spread the word wide-open like Sansa's private lips underneath her nightgown, the king's fingers and then his cock prying, prying, prying_ ) ? But as soon as she stopped in her tracks, she knew she should have simply proceeded on.

"Did you say something, Dog?" Joffrey called out, his saccharine sweet tone turning rancid like old milk. "Did you insult my lady?"

She turned around very slowly, trying to keep her face as inexpressive as possible. Joffrey loved reactions, making his own and seeing them; he lived for dramatics and entertainment. And just as Sansa had endured a supper during which her betrothed King had slid his knife along the material of her gown without making a scene, she made her face as innocent as possible and shrugged. "I didn't hear anything," Sansa replied simply.

But Joffrey's eyes darkened. "I wasn't speaking to you. Dog, did you or did you not just say something?"

"I was talking to myself, your grace. Nothing against your lady," replied the Hound and bowed his head. Sansa kept her eyes off him for fear she'd emote in a way that would make Joffrey sense there had been a quiet exchange between the two of them.

"Either speak loudly enough for me to hear or don't speak at all," Joffrey replied in a snap. "I've had tongues cut out for less." His face sweet again, Joffrey bid her a goodnight, and Sansa's stomach dropped when he trailed her back with his fingers. Sansa plastered on a look of serene happiness and waved to Myrcella, Tommen and the queen. She felt horrible she'd had to lie to Princess Myrcella but she supposed it wasn't too bad of a stretch. Joffrey  _used_ to be the most handsome boy Sansa had ever seen, even when he showed his wicked qualities, but now all she saw when she looked at him was the look he'd had on his face of gleeful concentration last night as he'd deflowered her. That look of victory upon his face as he'd inspected the damage. His fascination in shoving his hand back into all of her maiden's blood; oh, how Sansa's faced had burned because even after all of this, she was a lady and it had been utterly humiliating. Sansa had tried with all her might to take Shae's advice, to leave her head and go somewhere he couldn't touch her, but Joffrey had demanded responses from her. Each time Sansa had tried to think about her old life in Winterfell surrounded by her siblings and parents, Joffrey's cold, thin voice had cut through her like icicles and she'd had no choice but to be completely absorbed in the experience. Losing her maidenhead had been different than Sansa had expected. It hurt when Joffrey had forced his private parts inside of her but as Shae had said, the pain mostly went away by the end. It was the other parts of Joffrey that made Sansa more nervous: his teeth that had left a gaudy bruise on her neck, his fingers that shoved and pinched and slapped, and his eyes. His eyes were worst. They were glowing green orbs that were ever watchful and even when he smiled, the orbs widened and flashed, a reminder that King Joffrey could snap at any moment.

"How late did  _your king_  stay last night?" the Hound muttered gruffly.

Sansa's head snapped to attention, her gaze searching for the Lannisters. But lost in her thoughts, she had drifted past the dining room, trailing the Hound. They had probably been walking for at least five minutes without Sansa knowing. Still, the question made her face burn, no matter how alone they were. King Joffrey had mentioned something about the Hound last night, hadn't he? He'd accused Sansa of putting the Hound up to guard her door. At once, Sansa felt herself breathing rapidly. What if the Hound  _had_ heard? She did her best to keep her eyes on the floor, to keep from reacting. "I know not what you mean," she said sharply, but was pained to hear her own voice crack at the end.

He threw her back a look she didn't care for, a pained and pitiful glance. Who was he to judge her anyway? What was he to anyone? And really, if he  _did_ know, did he think she had any choice? "Little bird," he said, and stared ahead again. His voice was tired as usual. "I know the king visited your room last night and I very much doubt anything good came of it."

Sansa's face was hot and she searched her brain for an answer, for anything. "He only came by to give me a present!" she said in a hurried tone.

"Ah," the Hound said in a light tone. "And are you hiding your present with that ribbon on your throat?"

At once, Sansa's hand went to her neck. "No!" she all but shouted, "this is for decoration! He didn't—he gave me a present, I said, he gave me a jewel!" It wasn't far off, not too far off; the King had given her gifts before—

"A jewel," repeated the Hound, and Sansa heard him emit a bitter laugh.

"Yes, a jewel," she said hotly. "What do you care anyway? Should you really be sneaking around people's doors at night? He's the king. He can—"

-"Do as he pleases," the Hound finished, and threw back a grim smile at Sansa. "Yes, that's something we all know too well. He didn't hurt you, then?" The question was spoken in a dubious way, like the Hound wouldn't believe Sansa even if she told him the most well-crafted lie in the world.

"No," Sansa heard herself saying in a firm, flat tone. "He'd never really hurt me. He is my beloved." She was pleased with herself for being so unyielding even when the Dog's hulking frame and disfigured face put the spins in her stomach.

"The king takes great pleasure in hurting what he loves," the Hound scoffed, "perhaps even more than what he hates. You'd do well to remember that, little bird."

"You're treasonous," Sansa hissed, hot tears stinging in her eyes, her hands flying to her hips. "King Joffrey is good and fair! And I'm not your little bird!" She took off running, her blood red gown flying behind her and her carefully-arranged curls getting ruined by motion. The tears she'd been stifling during dinner leaked out then, and she covered her sobs in the crook of her arm. She heard the Hound laughing sardonically behind her and this made her cry even more. Obviously, he only wanted to see her embarrassed. He wanted to see her fail like everyone else in this horrible place.

When Sansa burst into her chambers, she was thrilled to see Shae there tending the fire. The dark-haired handmaiden rose to her feet, her pretty face twisted in concern. "What have they done to you?" she asked as Sansa ran into her arms, pressing herself into Shae's shoulder. Her sobs had become quiet and breathy, and she shook her head into Shae's shoulder.

"It was Joffrey's dog," she said quietly. "He was at the door last night. He was  _mocking_ me, Shae! Oh, what if he heard? What if he knows?"

"What exactly did he say, my lady?" Shae asked in a firm voice, pulling Sansa back and holding her head in her hands. Shae's fearless face gave Sansa a sliver of hope; after all, Shae would not laugh at her, not in a time like this.

"He asked about this," Sansa said, clawing at the ribbon on her neck. At her efforts, it unraveled, revealing the purple-black sore. "And he acted like he was caring, like he was giving me advice, but he's Joffrey's. Like everyone else here! I just know he was checking up on me, seeing if I'd tell. I can't trust anyone, Shae. Anyone but you."

"Good," Shae nodded, "you're getting smarter. Trust no one. Stay alive. You only do what the King tells you to do because there's nothing else that can be done. You're still going to be his wife, and if you please him you'll have your head. Forget about the Hound. Tell me, how did the dinner go? Was his grace in a good mood?"

Sansa nodded her head. "Better than usual—"

"This is excellent news," Shae commented, ushering Sansa to the mirror and sitting her down firmly in the chair before it. "The king isn't like most men I've encountered so this gives me hope. You have something he wants now. Likely before he had it, he did not know what he was missing. He was probably cocky without it, didn't think he needed it." At this grownup kind of talk, Sansa's face went red and she subconsciously pushed her legs together. Shae continued talking as she selected a brush from the vanity and began to soothingly comb out Sansa's curls. "Did he say anything else?"

"It was queer. He wants us to spend more time together," Sansa nodded, closing her eyes as Shae brushed. "It was almost like how I pictured him before everything went foul. He wants us to go horseback riding, to take walks in the gardens. He was almost delighted, the way he spoke about it—"

"I bet he was," Shae snorted. "He's going to want you again."

Sansa cringed. "I hate him. I don't want him to touch me—"

"You have to remember what I told you," Shae said in a serious tone. "You can let him inside you but don't let him in your mind—"

"I couldn't do it!" Sansa protested. "He wouldn't let me—"

"You must try harder," Shae urged. "You  _will_ survive this yet."

Sansa nodded, encouraged by Shae's bold tone. Sansa didn't know if she would survive it, after all, she was not brave like Arya or Robb. She wasn't unique like Jon or shrewd like Mother or steadfast in her beliefs like her late father. But the way Shae talked to her made her feel like she could pretend (if for only a second) that she would be able to pull through this and come out, on the other side, alive.

 


	6. Drowning Stag

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion's criticisms lead to a tantrum from Joffrey.

* * *

 

JOFFREY

 

* * *

Joffrey was having a wonderful week. He'd been in a grand mood, he'd slept better than he had in ages, and he'd had the pleasure of seeing Sansa at dinner each night. They had not had an opportunity to be alone as Joffrey had been quite busy with affairs of the kingdom (as tedious as  _that_ was), but seeing her in the evenings made the evenings end on a pleasurable note. He was unsure what had changed him so much; it was as though someone had addled his brains. There was a spark in him now when he saw Sansa. His mouth went dry and his heart beat more rapidly as he imagining mounting her again, his cock pushed deep into her perfect hole. He pictured his hands in her hair and his breath on her neck and ears, her lips on his. The sweet smiles and praise she gave him made him wish he was inside her even moreso and he was biding his time, waiting for the next open opportunity. She even sat by his side at the end of the week, her head held high, as Joffrey punished a chamber maid for allegedly stealing a golden goblet from his bedroom. Joffrey had her hands chopped off there right there before the court and Sansa merely stared on and smiled at him back at him when he threw her an eager grin. Could Sansa possibly have more to her than Joffrey had previously thought? It seemed so. Maybe he'd been judging her too harshly. Perhaps she  _could_ sit by his side and be his queen, his match. It was a new and exciting prospect for Joffrey, who couldn't seem to get enough of admiring Sansa's dark red hair and long eyelashes, and the curves of her body he had not fully appreciated until now. He felt like a proper man; he could do anything. He could conquer lands and kill enemies, and take any woman he wanted for his own. But for now, he was quite satisfied with Lady Sansa.

At the week's end, Joffrey instructed Uncle Tyrion to formally invite Sansa to ride horseback with him directly after breakfast the next afternoon. "Ah, am I a raven now as well as hand of the king?" questioned his uncle in a tone of amusement.

"You would argue my command?" Joffrey snipped, fixing Tyrion with a dangerous expression.

"You'd do well to learn the true definition of the words you use," responded Uncle Imp with a smile. "Were I to argue, I would have done so more effectively. I was merely bringing into question your reasoning for me to invite Lady Sansa for you when, according to your mother, you dine with Sansa each evening now. But I am not complaining, nor am I arguing. I have need to stretch my legs, and Lady Sansa is actually a pleasant diversion from others around the castle who I must deal with more routinely."

Joffrey squinted at his uncle, never certain if the man was insulting him or not. "Yes," he finally said with a nod and a smirk, "yes, she is quite pleasant, isn't she?"

"Your change of heart is interesting. We're all very glad to see you treating your betrothed with a bit more respect as of late, unless it's all a game." Tyrion made a face. "Oh, don't tell me. You are not planning to take a horseback ride to show off some estranged Stark's severed head, are you?"

"No," Joffrey spat, "whose head would I have? I haven't had any Starks murdered lately, though I wish I had! I will as soon as I encounter another one! With my own two hands, I'll rip their heads off their necks like I've done with pigeons!"

"I bet you will!" Uncle Imp raised up a hand. "But save this topic for your romantic horse ride. I am sure as soon as you bring this into your conversation, Sansa will be swooning over you like the flies in the stable linger upon shit-"

"Are you calling me  _shit_?" Joffrey screamed, leaping off the throne and stomping the ground like a young bull. "How dare you! Take it back!"

"You're getting quicker," Uncle Imp commented lightly. "I really must tread more carefully-"

Joffrey ignored him, continuing to shout: " I WON'T HAVE YOU INSULTING ME LIKE THIS! I WANT YOU OUT OF HERE, NOW! GO DO AS I'VE ASKED YOU!"

"I'm certain your betrothed would enjoy hearing that her king had a shrieking fit reminiscent of a toddler- shall I pass that on as well?"

"I WISH I HAD YOUR HEAD!" was Joffrey's enraged response, his face turning pink, the vibrant color of rage and shame mixed.

His uncle let out a faint chortle. "Yes, I'm certain that would make you very happy. At least for a few minutes, that is, as your attention span has proven to be quite nonexistent. Now, as your hand, I must advise you to breathe deeply. Panic attacks are not very kingly-"

"I'LL BREATHE HOW I WISH TO BREATHE!" Joffrey bellowed, and stepped down onto the floor directly in front of his uncle. "First you go telling on me to my mother, and now this!"

"What about your mother?" Uncle Tyrion questioned, one eyebrow raised high and then he sighed. "So, she told you I confided in her about the prostitutes-"

"You expect her to keep secrets from her own son? From the  _king?_  Anyway," Joffrey said with a flick of his hand, "I don't care what she knows. She cannot do anything to me! But you anger me." He sniffed.

"So sorry to have  _angered_ you," voiced Tyrion with a hint of ice in his voice, "and forgive me for my concern over you battering a woman, for the sake of the Gods-"

"Not this again," Joffrey snorted, folding his arms and shaking his head with a sinister smile on his face. "I told you, Uncle. I didn't batter her. She was battered by the other prostitute. Blame her!"

"Are you impaired? Is there anything in your sick head?" Tyrion shouted, finally breaking. Joffrey's eyes widened and his mouth fell open in stunned surprise. "You held two women captive with a damned crossbow and you have the audacity to sit here and make an insensitive joke? Every day, you amaze me more and more! You really are a treasure, aren't you?"

"Your love for whores is depressing," Joffrey countered, forcing out a high-pitched laugh. "But I suppose I'd love them, too. That is, if I couldn't get a woman to fuck me unless I paid her-"

In one hard, fast motion, Uncle Imp leaned forward on his dwarfed legs and back-handed Joffrey across the face. Joffrey mewled loudly, clasping his burning cheek. "That's not for me," Tyrion said in a calm voice. "That's for the women you abused. I wish I could say I trust they were the last. But I suppose you're so demented, you can't get whatever dwells between your legs to be stiff unless you're acting like a tyrant." He gave a short, cynical laugh. "Tell me, nephew, had you run out of pigeons that day?"

Joffrey let out a guttural cry. After all, he'd only understood about half of what Tyrion had said, but he didn't like it. Not one bit. "GET OUT! YOU ARE DISMISSED!"

"Gladly, sire," said Tyrion with a theatrical curtsy, all fluttering hands and an exaggerated dipped stance. "Is there anything else I should pass onto Lady Stark? Can I assume you'll be in good spirits tomorrow or shall I instruct her to come equipped with a shield?"

"GET OUT!" Joffrey repeated, his loud voice echoing out into the foyer. Whistling merrily, Uncle Imp strolled throughout the throne room with an obnoxious skip in his step. Furiously, Joffrey moaned in pain and beat his fists at his sides.

From the entrance stepped Mother, a look of great concern written on her face. As Tyrion passed her, her face darkened even deeper. "What's the meaning of this?" she barked.

"I'm bonding with my nephew. We are  _learning_ things about each other," Tyrion nodded to her pleasantly. "And now I am on my way to deliver very important business by order of the king!" He continued to whistle as he exited the room.

"What's he done?" Cersei asked crisply, crossing over to Joffrey on fast feet, her skirts cascading out behind her as she moved.

"He was mocking me, Mother!" Joffrey protested, one hand still pressed to his cheek. "Are you certain I can't have him killed?"

Mother laughed lightly and smoothed Joffrey's hair with a tender hand. "I'm certain," she said softly.

"Well, then you're really no help to me," Joffrey said bitterly, ducking out of her grasp. Her motherly cooing no longer made him feel at ease. It was obnoxious and made him feel babyish. He didn't need his mother to come to his aide. Joffrey had Sansa now. "Why are you here, anyway? Has everyone set out to drive me mad today?"

"No, my son- I have come to report to you about the maid whose... whose hands were removed yesterday," Mother said, threading her fingers together.

"What about that thief?" Joffrey barked, hopping back onto the iron throne and crossing his legs in a casual stance. Mother hesitated. Impatient and still reeling from his uncle's blow and disrespectful words, Joffrey kicked the floor. "Get on with it!"

"There was evidence found that she may not have been a thief at all," Mother went on, and Joffrey scowled.

"Are you questioning my judgment?" he snapped. "She stole that goblet, Mother! It was missing from my chambers and she was the last in there! She was the last, I know she was!"

Mother put up her hands. "I'm merely telling you what has been passed out to me through Lord Varys-"

"You can tell that sorry eunuch that from now on he can go through me instead of my  _mother,_ " said Joffrey in a pained voice, but gestured her to step closer to his throne. "But go on. What was it he told you?"

She sighed, and moved in toward him. "The goblet was still in your chambers. It had fallen behind your desk."

Joffrey glared, feeling his temper rising again.  _They're all out to get me,_ he thought viciously.  _Every single one of them!_ "Who discovered this?"

"If you'll remember, yesterday before you had the maid's hands cut off she was trying to tell you she was innocent. The head maid did a thorough inspection of your chambers-"

"Without  _my_ permission?" Joffrey yowled. "She should be put to death! She should wait for my command before she searches my room with her filthy hands!"

Mother drew a breath. "That is really not the point- you disabled an honest woman, and another servant found the evidence."

"And now you believe I should listen to every cur and liar that ever walked the kingdom?" Joffrey demanded. He made a flippant hand gesture as if swatting a fly. "Likely she would have stolen something else, if she hadn't already!"

"I do not wish to fight with you, Joffrey. But this pattern of rash behavior is not very becoming and the servants are already beginning to talk. It's not appealing for them to see one of their own punished for a crime she did not commit. And now she is out of work. You've given her absolutely no choice in-"

"I told you, Mother. I don't like when you speak to me so. I'm finished for the day. If I sit here one more second, I shall lose my temper with you. Send word that I shan't be dining at the table tonight. I wish to take my meal alone. I can't stand to look at you for fear I'll be sick. Give Sansa my apologies," Joffrey said, leaving the throne. He made certain to bump into Cersei as he walked by her.  _Blithering, stupid bitch! I wish I could tell her that I've gone against her. If only I could brag about it to her, to Tyrion- to all these little fools who make my life a hell! I will get back at all of them, just wait._

Once he entered his chambers, he slammed the door and kicked the leg of his desk. Quills, ink and rolls of parchment fell to the floor. The ink bottles shattered, spewing tarry blacks and mossy greens across the polished flooring. The mess gave Joffrey a feeling of twisted contentment and so he upturned his chair too, and slung a large glass stag he'd inherited from his late father into the debris. He paused at the fantastic crack it made as it broke into several pieces. It sunk in the ink as though it was a real stag drowning in a dirty river, its lungs crushed by the black, rolling waves.

Tears spilled out of Joffrey's eyes then, because it was all so unfair-  _just so unfair._ Because if Father hadn't have died it all wouldn't be so  _difficult, so stressful._ And perhaps Father could have  _taught_ Joffrey a thing or two before he'd gone-  _that would have been too much, wouldn't it!? That would have taken time away from hunting trips, and spending time with that blasted traitor Ned Stark! That would have taken time away from drinking and whores! Gods forbid that,_ thought Joffrey savagely, and he broke an arrow on the leg of the chair before tossing it onto the heap. This was satisfying.  _Fun._  In a violent swipe, he flung his chess set from the bedside table and ripped pages out of books, his sobbing growing into an angrier sound. The tears ran hot down his face as he growled and cried in unison.  _No one taught me anything and they all make it my fault! They're all vile! No one is ever on my side!_

When Joffrey had destroyed several more figurines and smashed a bookend onto the floor, he flopped forward onto his bed, his head feverish with the effort of crying. He cried for what seemed like hours and hours, and he was both angry and relieved that no one came by to ask if he was alright. He beat his fists into the soft mattress and cried until he had no tears left to give, until his throat was burned raw. Joffrey cried until he forgot what was so terrible and soon, he was laughing instead, a raucous and panting sound. He sat up, dried his eyes and beamed so widely it could have easily been mistaken for a look of utmost hatred.

  
  


 


	7. Kill Hill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joffrey plays a game of show-and-tell with Sansa.

* * *

SANSA

 

* * *

Shae was tying Sansa's hair back with a red ribbon to match the one that adorned her throat when a loud knock sounded at the chamber door, signifying that the Hound had arrived to escort her to dinner with the royal family. Instantly, Sansa's stomach did a series of clumsy cartwheels and she smoothed the front of her maroon gown before rising as Shae unlocked and opened the door. Sansa's nerves had been a wreck today. Earlier, Lord Tyrion had stopped by to deliver the unhappy news of King Joffrey's invitation to go horse-back riding the next morning. Although Sansa was more at ease around Tyrion than most of her captors, she had still felt her face pale at his words and she'd lied quickly when he commented that she looked as if she had seen a ghost. She'd spent the past hour readying herself to see Joffrey, and she'd practised exactly how she would bend her words tonight to make him feel like their upcoming horse-riding sounded like the best adventure in the entire world. She already hated herself for the insincerity, for the poison lies that fell out of her mouth so readily these days. Still, it was like Shae said- the more pleased Joffrey was, the less miserable Sansa would be. She'd already prayed seven times today that he wouldn't touch her tomorrow and that perhaps he'd be in a good mood and show her kindness. Did the gods stop listening after a certain amount of prayers? If that was so, they'd given up on her long ago.

"Best not be late for dinner, Lady Stark," the hound heaved in his gusty growl of a voice. "If I'm going to catch hell from his grace, it had better be for a better reason than his beloved wasting time perfecting her looks." He gave a dry laugh. "If you want to impress him, best to wear less and keep your mouth shut unless you're admiring him. At least, that's how I prefer  _my_ women."

Sansa felt the corners of her eyes wrinkle in an unintentional glower, but she gave a short dip of her head all the same and followed the dog into the slightly chill hallway. She bid Shae a farewell nod as her handmaiden gave her a curtsy. The exchange likely seemed unfamiliar to the Hound, but Sansa felt warmth spark through her at the smile Shae gave her as she left. It was extraordinary to have at least one person who seemed to care about her, even if Shae was a second rate handmaiden much of the time.

"I'm sorry, Ser," she muttered under her breath, staying a meter or so behind the tall man leading her. They walked in silence for several minutes, Sansa replaying conversation ideas in her head to beguile Joffrey.  _I'm so looking forward to riding with you, your grace. Do you have a favorite horse? How long have you been riding? I remember how fun it was, riding with you in Winterfell. You looked so handsome that day..._ Sansa felt a cold shudder ripple through her as she added,  _before you drew blood out of little Mycah and then called my sister terrible, horrible words._ She mentally shook herself.  _No! Stay focused on what was good. Make him remember you then, when you loved him, before it all went so wrong. Before he took away your maidenhead, made you worth_  nothing. She couldn't help but let her thoughts spiral out of control now. She could even feel a pulse, a pang, from where his hardness had filled the gap between her legs. _Will he really want me again? What if he has me killed because he's bored now? Shae says he'll want me again, but when?_

"Show me what's under the ribbon."

Sansa jumped as Ser Clegane wheeled around, his mussed up hair covering his eyes, canine teeth a wet, twisted smile. He was suddenly inches from her face. "I told you, it's-"

"Show me or I'll rip it off you," he wheezed, and she smelt a faint whiff of old wine on his breath.

Her heart racing, she clasped her throat as the Hound reached out a scarred, gnarled hand toward her face. Unlike Joffrey's clean, white fingers, the Hound's looked course and cracked and they were caked in dirt. "Don't  _touch_  me!" she asserted, her voice high.

He laughed, even sounding like a dog. "Was the king doing a bit of sucking there, Lady Stark?"

"No!" Sansa shouted, going as red as her hair, she could feel it- she was mortified, she wanted to run.

"Too bad," the Hound grinned savagely, "I was about to say perhaps he's more normal than I thought. I won't touch you. I like my head." He narrowed his eyes and turned back around, marching toward the dining room entrance. "And don't accuse me of treason again, little bird. I serve his majesty with all my rotted heart. I'm only looking out for his young lady." As she walked past him to enter, he gave her a crooked wink. "Who knows? You might need me one day."

Sansa made a noise of exasperation, and with a roll of her blue eyes she entered the dining room and plastered on a smile for her future family. The Hound was nothing to her after all; he was only trying to scare her. She took a deep breath, smelling roasts, pies and puddings. Soon, her nose was free of Ser Clegane's pungent, raw scent. Myrcella and Tommen greeted her excitedly, and Cersei motioned for her to sit.  _But where is Joffrey?_ she thought worriedly. Somehow, his absence was more worrisome than his presence. Quickly, she curtsied and took a seat beside the queen.

"Good evening, little dove," Cersei greeted, looking gorgeous in green silk that brought out her ivy eyes. "My son wishes to give you his deepest apologies. He wasn't feeling well today and has opted to take supper in his room. He does hope you enjoy your food."

It took everything out of Sansa not to breathe an audible sigh of relief. Her artificial beaming smile was quickly replaced with a wide-eyed look of concern. "Oh, my poor Joffrey!" she found herself saying almost too easily, "has he fallen ill? Is it serious? Should I still meet him in the morning to ride?"  _Is it a plague? Will he die?_ she thought hopefully, trying not to grin.

"You sweet thing," tutted Cersei, snapping her fingers for wine. "It is not that sort of affliction. His grace was in a hot temper today, one that can only be remedied by time alone and a hot bath. He should be just right in the morning, though I shall send word to you if he is still out of sorts. Sometimes even kings have their moods." Cersei made a pained smile in a way that suggested to Sansa she wasn't exactly thinking about Joffrey. Sansa refrained from asking when Joffrey  _wasn't_ in a mood, though it took some effort.

Tommen popped several grapes in his mouth before saying, "I don't like when Joffy is in a bad mood. Bad things happen." Sansa looked up from her plate in curiosity. What was Tommen talking about? Did he know something?

"Do  _not_ speak with your mouth full!" Cersei snapped, her goblet of wine poised in midair. "Would you rather eat in the stable with the pigs?"

"No, Mother!" said Tommen, hanging his head blond head down, and swallowed.

"What did you say, Prince Tommen?" asked Sansa in a quiet, sweet voice.

"When my brother's in a bad mood, the bad things happen," said Tommen earnestly with a good-natured shrug of his shoulders. "But sometimes when he's happy, the bad things happen, too-"

"Oh, stop this nonsense. Don't speak about Joffrey in this way. He is your king now, and besides, he's had a difficult few weeks," Cersei said off-handedly, taking a delicate bite of lamb pie. But Sansa noticed the queen's gaze was growing as icy as Joffrey's could be, her green eyes flashing like a cat's.

Sansa's attention was no longer focused upon her plate of food at all. "Bad things?" she asked carefully, attempting to sound clueless so that the queen would not raise an eyebrow at her questions. Had Joffrey told his brother plans he had in store for her?  _Joffrey's cruel enough to Tommen, always poking fun at him and insulting his sword fighting. But I've never seen him do anything worse than taunt him._

Tommen nodded, apparently eager for an audience. "Yes, the bad things happen when Joffy gets you alone." Sansa felt her stomach give a jolt.

" _Tommen,"_  Princess Myrcella suddenly hissed, and very obviously kicked her brother under the table.

"This is quite enough!" Cersei announced loudly and cast a solemn look at Sansa. "Do  _not_ ask the prince anymore questions tonight. His lies are going to get him into trouble soon enough!"

"But Mother, I'm not-"

"Stop it!" Myrcella shouted. Sansa had never seen the princess so distraught; her cheeks were pale and she was shaking. Sansa replayed what had just happened in her mind, trying to make sense of it. Whatever it was, it wasn't good. But... Was there  _anything_  good about Joffrey, anything she could use as a means to look forward to seeing him? Beyond his looks and his deceiving way of kissing tenderly, Sansa could find nothing right about him. He had invaded her, and though Shae pressed the fact that Sansa was not ruined, she definitely felt like it. He was her first time, and he'd likely be her only because she had no doubt he'd kill her before she could escape, before she could find her true prince charming and fulfill her wishes.

. . .

To Sansa's regret, there was no message indicating that the horse ride would be canceled, and so she choked down several bites of porridge and a hunk of brown bread with cheese before plunging her face into the basin of hot water that Shae brought up for her. She thought about staying in the water forever, opening her mouth and letting the water fill her lungs. Arya would smack her for such a dramatic thought.  _At least she would have years ago_ , Sansa mused darkly. Now maybe Arya would see the hopelessness in the situation and let her kill herself instead of reprimanding her for being weak.  _Maybe, maybe not._  When Sansa emerged from the water, beads of liquid dripping off her face, she was sniffling. Even the water droplets could not mask the tears.

"What's all this?" Shae asked with a frown, handing Sansa a soft cloth to dry herself. "Why the crying so early?"

"My sister," Sansa wept lightly, feeling even more like Arya would find her stupid for being so emotional on a day when she needed to take complete charge. "I haven't seen her in months- she could be dead for all I know, and she-"

"Stop this," Shae said, not unkindly, but not in the gentlest tone she could take. Sansa looked up, baffled. "I don't know the king personally but I wager he doesn't want you crying today. You must be in control. A queen.  _His_ queen. There is nothing you can do for your sister. Not today, at least. Understood?"

Sansa snorted through her tears. "You shouldn't talk to me in such a way- you're my servant, you're-"

"I can be silent, then," Shae interrupted in a curt tone. "Come, we'll do your hair. And you should wear the green gown King Joffrey bought you after his Name Day. It says,  _I am Beautiful, I am strong, I am Taller than You!_  "

"Shall I really say that? He'd  _love_ that," Sansa giggled, wiping her face. It was funny enough that she forgot to tell Shae she wasn't being silent in the least. Sansa wondered if the handmaiden even knew the definition of silence. "He can't stand that I'm taller than him, he absolutely hates it."

"Of course he hates it," Shae laughed, "his neck likely hurts from looking up at you."

"At least he's taller than the little lord. I can't even imagine," Sansa said, another chortle escaping her lips as Shae paused in tugging her curls. "Can you?" Sansa asked, when Shae said nothing for a moment.

Shae shrugged. "He seems an interesting fellow, that one."

"I was afraid of him at first," Sansa went on. "His looks are rather shocking. But I suppose he is nicer than many here."

"I wouldn't know," Shae said, pulling Sansa's hair back. She stood up and crossed to the dressing area. "I haven't ever met him." Sansa couldn't help but notice that Shae was no longer meeting her eyes, but she decided it meant nothing. Sansa had more important things to think about. They spent the next half hour perfecting her hair and bodice, making sure that she looked her best for her king.

. . .

Sansa had to admit to herself that she looked very beautiful and even a bit grown-up. The gown Joffrey had gifted her with was of a form-fitting deep green variety, and it did not leave much to the imagination when the bodice was pulled tight. It reminded Sansa of something Queen Cersei might wear. Today, Shae had set Sansa's locks in loose curls that fell just over her cleavage line and she wore the new riding boots that the late Robert Baratheon had given her when she had first arrived in King's Landing. At that time, Sansa had expected she'd be riding with Joffrey weekly, but they'd gathered dust in the lonely months since. She'd had them shined this morning and was glad they still fit. The sun was shining and even the Hound's gruff attitude did not ruin Sansa's positivity that today would go smoothly. When she was dropped off at the stables, King Joffrey was already there. He turned around, and she saw happiness on his face. She breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps he  _would_  be in high spirits. Her prayers had worked.

"My lady," Joffrey greeted, with a formal bow, "I'm very pleased to see you. Have you had a good morning so far?" He was riding a deep blue velvet riding coat and brandishing a crop in his outstretched hand. Glistening black boots were on his feet, adding several inches to his height.

"Yes!" Sansa said, almost forcefully as she curtsied. Blushing, she noticed Joffrey's eyes immediately fixing themselves to the plunging neckline of the gown. "It's lovely outside-"

"I didn't invite you out to talk about the weather," Joffrey said bluntly, but he was still smiling. "I like this on you. It's not red, but I like it-"

"Oh, I'm sorry! I forgot- I wore it because you bought it for me!" Sansa immediately put in, mentally cursing Shae for suggesting the green frock,  _if I catch it for the dress, it's all her fault, if she gets me in trouble I'll-_

Joffrey snorted, striding forward. "I said I liked it. Don't be stupid, Sansa. If I bought it for you, it means I wish to see it on you. You do like it, don't you?" he asked, and stopped just in front of Sansa, grasping the material of her sleeve between his fingers. Sansa's heart pounded in her chest and she was relieved when he pulled his hand back. "I had it made specially for you. Mother helped with the design. She has good taste, doesn't she?"

 _Ah, so that is why it reminds me of the Queen. Exposed neckline and all,_ thought Sansa, remembering her mother's negative opinion of Cersei's outfits and in contrast how gorgeous Sansa had thought Cersei was. It was once Sansa's aspiration to be just like the queen. She nodded several times. "I love it," she said.

He beamed and put a hand on her waist, drawing her closer to him.  _Please, no, no,_ she thought, but all he did was plant a soft kiss on her lips. Despite herself, Sansa's legs still went a bit weak with the kiss. When he wasn't biting her and shoving his tongue in her mouth, the king was actually a decent kisser. This made Sansa feel even worse; she wished everything was despicable about Joffrey. It made her sick that she actually  _liked_ his kisses. "Well, we should get on to it," the king went on, pulling off her and gesturing to a large black stallion that was pawing the grass and whinnying just outside the stable door. "We're going to ride Death's Door." Joffrey gave a little laugh and smiled excitedly. "I named him."

 _Clearly. "''We'_ , your grace?" Sansa asked tentatively as Joffrey clomped up to the horse and gave it an unneccessarily heavy-handed slap on its side. Death's Door whinnied loudly and reared up, and Joffrey laughed again, a cold, high sound. Despite the warm morning, Sansa shivered, thinking of how Joffrey had laughed while he'd taken her maidenhead, and the sound of his private parts slapping inside of her.

"Yes, I'd like you to ride with me," Joffrey said importantly. "Why shouldn't we share a horse? I can show you how fast I can ride. Likely you wouldn't be able to keep up!" He put his boot in the stirrups, and swung up onto Death's Door. "Hound, help my lady onto my horse!"

"As you wish," the Hound grunted, but Sansa shook her head.

"I can do it myself," she said, and at Joffrey's darkening glance, she added, "I can at least get halfway up, but your grace may need to help me so I don't fall."

Joffrey nodded, looking important. "Very well. You are dismissed, Hound. We don't need you." As Sansa slipped her boot through the stirrups, she raised up her hand and Joffrey caught it in his own, gripping her strongly. He hoisted her onto Death's Door and she settled behind him, trying to arrange her dress in a ladylike manner. "Put your hands on my waist!" Joffrey snapped, and Sansa instantly complied, gingerly doing as he wished. "Here we go!" Joffrey shouted and, without a second's thought, he brought the riding crop down with an enormous _snap!_ Death's Door panicked, rearing up slightly and then pounding the ground, taking off into a gallop.

Sansa shrieked and had no choice but to cling to Joffrey with all her might. He laughed maniacally as they went, the gardens zooming by in an emerald green golden blur. "Please, please, please, your grace! Please slow down! It's too much!" she cried out, closing her eyes. She felt naseous and the last thing she wanted to do was to get sick in front of King Joffrey. She figured he wouldn't like that.

But Joffrey responded by digging the spurs of his boots into the horse's sides and though Sansa didn't think it was possible, they went even faster. She buried into Joffrey's velvet coat, her head spinning. Her fingers were sore from clutching the king's waist and she finally wrapped her arms completely around him, so sure they were going to fall. At long last, Joffrey shouted: "Woa! Woa!" and Death's Door came to an abrupt halt. "That was fun," commented Joffrey lightly as Sansa whimpered into the soft material of his coat.

Her eyes fluttered open. They were in unfamiliar territory to Sansa, on the outskirts of the kingdom's vast gardens. The trees and shrubbery were thicker here, and shadows hung over them. "Where are we?" she whispered, and then, as an afterthought, "your grace?"

"I told you I'd show you around today," said Joffrey in what sounded like an irritable tone. He gave a chuckle spiked with maliciousness. "Were you really that scared?"

"You were going so fast, your grace," she responded, head still spinning slightly. There was something off-putting about their location; Sansa disliked how secretive it felt, how closed in. It was like a maze in a fairytale.

Joffrey's voice dropped into a low sound and he placed his own hands over Sansa's, gently interlocking his fingers in hers. "Or did you want to be closer to me?"

 _How does he expect me to answer? Say 'no' and I'll be in trouble for saying I didn't want to be close to him. Say 'yes' and he has grounds to accuse me of being improper. I'm anything but improper!_ Sansa bit her lip, cheeks flushing as she was struck with the memory:  _I'm no longer a maiden, I let him take me. I'm not as proper as I once was, I've gone against my parents' wishes and I'm not a lady at all._

"Answer me," Joffrey snarled, and he gripped her hands hard.

"Yes, your grace. I wanted to be close to you, but I was also scared. Thank you for stopping the horse," she mumbled, her hands pulsing in pain until Joffrey loosened his grip.

Joffrey did not respond but instead let out a long sigh and shifted his weight on the saddle. "Have you thought about me? About what we did?" he asked, and he sounded sweet. Like the boy Sansa had first met in Winterfell. She tried with all her might not to let her mind wander. She had to keep focused.

"Yes, your grace-"

"Joffrey," he said. "Call me 'Joffrey', unless I say so. So, you've thought about me, then?"

"Yes," Sansa said, shutting her eyes once more and trying to lose herself in the swirls of color she could see in the darkness. "Yes, Joffrey, I've thought about you." Her voice was low, a whimper. She was afraid he'd be angry at her nervous tone, but he did not seem to notice or care. His grip on her hands grew strong again and he pulled her right hand in his own and slid it down the front of his trousers. Sansa shuddered and shut her eyes tighter, her thoughts racing.  _Do as he wants, you must do as the king wants, the king does as he pleases, please him, that's what Shae said, Shae said men only want one thing, only I don't want to give it but I have, I already have, think about something else- names of flowers, roses, hyacinth, poppy, orchid, Septa Mordane said the orchid was her favorite, her head high on the castle wall, Father's head, Father, don't think of father-_

"Faster," Joffrey commanded, and Sansa broke out of her hurried thoughts to the realization her hand was positioned over the king's groin and she'd been stroking him. For how long, she was not sure. Despite her horror, she was pleased with herself. She'd done as Shae had advised, if only for a bit of time. She'd left reality.

Sansa felt her heartbeat begin to race again and all of the spit in her mouth dry up. She was going to be punished for this but there was no way out but to please King Joffrey. Before he could reprimand her, Sansa did as he had instructed and pulled her fingers up and down the material of his trousers. She could feel his hardness there and she was all too aware now of what it meant. Wordlessly she stroked, working up a fast motion. Her hand began shaking.

Joffrey sighed again, and his breathing quickened. She could feel his chest rising and dropping, and he let out a soft moan. Unsure of what to do, Sansa kept going faster until he wrenched her hand off his trousers. "That's too much!" he whined. "Listen to me when I tell you what to do!"

"I'm sorry, your... I'm sorry, Joffrey," Sansa gasped, tears forming in her eyes.

"Are you okay, my lady?" he asked suddenly, his tone sugary again. He swiveled his head to look at Sansa, a look of concern on his face. His cheeks were slightly pink.

"I'm fine," she whispered, afraid to make another mistake.

"Let us walk about for a moment," Joffrey said, and swung off the horse, sticking the riding crop inside his coat and holding out a hand. He helped Sansa off the horse in such a gentlemanly way that she tried with all her might to forget he'd just made her touch him. "Take my arm," he said politely, and Sansa complied but took care not to squeeze too hard.

_He's the boy you loved, the boy you wanted, he's good and pure and you love him and you'll marry him one day._

Joffrey gestured to their left. "There's something I want to show you."

Sansa followed his grand gesture off the green path but saw nothing but a mound of dirt. It was a  _large_ mound of dirt, but a mound of dirt nonetheless. It stood about one and a half meters off the ground admist several large shrubs. Joffrey wasted no time in leading her closer to the pile, and Sansa was displeased when she saw a mass of flies buzzing dully around it. "What is it, your grace? I mean, Joffrey."

"It's been here quite some time," Joffrey went on in a cheerful tone, thankfully not angering at her misstep in calling him by his formal title. "It's where they've instructed the servants to bury my kills. My parents, I mean."

"Your kills?" Sansa asked, furrowing her brow.

"Yes, my pets. My siblings' pets. Animals I find and want to play with when I'm bored," Joffrey explained, still in that gleefully upbeat tone.

Sansa stared at him, her mouth slightly ajar. "Your.. pets?"

"Well, yes, what else am I supposed to do when they displease me? Sometimes they bite me. Or I get tired of them. Others can be hunted and skinned but some are just fun to play with," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. To Sansa's great disgust, the boy-king kicked at the soil and laughed as a group of flies took off into the sunny sky. "I call it Kill Hill!" he announced proudly.

"Oh-oh, my Gods, why-"

"You look upset," Joffrey said, the corners of his mouth turning down. "I think it's funny. Why don't you?"

"Because-" Sansa stopped herself, but she knew she'd already done it.  _How could I possibly think this is funny? How does he expect me to react?_ "I'm a lady, Joffrey," she said quickly, trying to evade his wrath and hoping he'd take her away from this horrid place as soon as possible. "I don't like death."

"I know," he smiled. "But if you're going to be my queen, there are some things you should get used to." And with that, King Joffrey gave Sansa a slight shove (if this were anyone else at any other time, she might even call it a  _playful_ shove) and Sansa tumbled right on top of Kill Hill.

 


	8. Like a Sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The crop, the dog, the King and the lady.

* * *

JOFFREY

* * *

Sansa toppled, arms outstretched, onto the pile of festering dirt and Joffrey grinned as she began to scream. It was a high-pitched, nervous kind of scream, like a lamb being slowly pulled to pieces. It sent a pleasant sort of shudder throughout Joffrey's body as he watched her struggling for a way to right herself. Joffrey was a connoisseur of ladies' screams: he liked them vigorous and loud, piercing and full of terror. Sometimes it was very difficult for Joffrey to acquire an erection, and it was often even more laborious to maintain one, but the screams of women often did the trick. He'd gone hard the instant Sansa had begun screaming on the horse ride and with some luck, he hoped he'd stay hard long enough to use Sansa's body again, or at least have some sort of enjoyment.

"Oh dear, how  _clumsy_ of you," he commented ecstatically. His voice grew louder and his face was warm from smiling. "Don't touch that mound there," he said in a high, excited voice, gesturing to the left of Sansa. "That's where I buried a stray dog yesterday after I broke all of its legs. It wasn't quite dead. Perhaps it's still under there. ALIVE." He grabbed Sansa hard around the neck and she jumped, letting out another trilling shriek. Joffrey threw back his head and roared with laughter. Whimpering bursts came from Sansa's mouth as she grappled for a way to stand up without falling completely in the dirt. Death's Door got spooked and took off back toward the castle, whinnying loudly.

"Honestly," Joffrey exclaimed, wiping the tears of glee from his eyes with a careful sweep of his velvet sleeve, "it's a  _joke,_ Sansa! Everything in this dirt has been dead, dead, dead for ages!" He shrugged. "I don't get much fun from killing animals anymore. Haven't done it for quite some time."  _That got tedious,_ he thought,  _and I'm not a little boy anymore. Now it's punishments in court and keeping King's Landing to my liking. My, I wish I could have seen the little bastard babies getting slaughtered and the child bastards running away before my men extinguished their lives. Now, that's exciting!_

She turned around to look at him, an expression of horror twisted on her pretty face. Her cheeks were red and she was shaking violently. Joffrey wondered why she was so upset—it was obvious he was having a go at her, wasn't it? "Oh," she said tentatively, "I suppose I should have known you were only joking, my king—"

" _Joffrey,"_ he reminded her. "When we're alone, you call me  _Joffrey._ " Gallantly, he took Sansa gently by the waist and helped her to her feet, plastering on a sweet smile. Sansa seemed to survey him for awhile, and finally smiled back. She looked so good in her custom gown, with her bosom peeking out from the emerald green bodice. Joffrey tried to take a few breaths, his heart pounding. His erection was pulsing even stronger in his tight trousers and as Sansa straightened up with her backside pressed against his groin, it took everything out of him to resist throwing her back down and taking her right there. However, he did not want to get his hands or clothes soiled. It was also unfortunate Sansa had gotten dirt on her beautiful gown. It very nearly spoiled her beauty. Joffrey hated dirtiness, absolutely despised feeling unclean or looking at filthy things. He kept his weapons spotless and ordered for his chambers to be deep-cleaned even when there was no dirt to be seen. Filth gave him an automatic gag reflex. Instantly, he looked away from the bottom of her gown, already feeling slightly ill.

"Thank you, Joffrey," said Sansa, curtsying.

"Funny. You didn't even scream when I showed you your father's head!" he said with a grin, shifting his weight and tugging on his riding coat to cover the obvious bulge.

Sansa blinked several times and then she averted her gaze. Joffrey watched her closely, waiting for her response. "Well, he was a traitor," she whispered, "and you're to be my husband."

Joffrey beamed. "That is correct. But you'd do well to look at my eyes when you speak to me," he said in a soft voice, putting his hand to the side of her face. Her skin was smooth and warm beneath his fingers.

"I'm sorry," Sansa said softly, and her sapphire eyes fluttered open, locking into Joffrey's gaze. He felt his chest give a jolt. "Sometimes I get so happy around you… I'm just too nervous to look upon you. You're my king, after all."

"I understand," Joffrey nodded, considering her answer. She was  _happy_ with him. It must have meant he'd done something right. He hoped so—it would be shattering if she pointed out something he'd done wrong, some way he'd faltered. He wanted Sansa to love and fear him equally. Joffrey enjoyed when Sansa was frightened but he also wished very much for her to enjoy the feeling of him, the way he touched her. He would have never thought he'd care so much but being with Sansa physically had put a more positive spin on their impending marriage. Before, he hadn't seen what the big deal was but now, he had found himself thinking more and more about bedding Sansa.

In fact, the thought of seeing Sansa was the very thing that had brought Joffrey out of his deep gloom yesterday evening. He'd been filled with a great amount of exhilaration when he'd imagined riding with her, being by her side, and kissing her. Being able to touch his lips to hers this morning had instantly brightened his spirits, and he'd gone hard almost instantly.  _Who'd have thought I'd be interested in spending time with Sansa Stark?_ he found himself thinking for the hundredth time that week, his hand still tenderly pressed to her face.  _Months ago I was angry about my betrothal, but I was just a child then. How could I have known how good it would feel to be inside her?_ The mere mental image of Sansa's face staring up at him as he entered her filled him with anticipation. Joffrey hoped perhaps this would cure him. Maybe it could be enough now, simply having intercourse with Sansa. His fantasies were becoming difficult to maintain.

"I like you best when you smile at me," he decided, and planted a brief kiss on her cheek. "Your screams are good to hear, but you're prettiest when you're happy." As he said it, he realized it very well might be the truth. With that he let his hands drop to her silken waist and he leaned into her, pressing his mouth against hers. He sighed into her mouth as he felt Sansa return the kiss, felt her hands very slowly move to his back. Hungrily, Joffrey drove his tongue through her lips and to his great dismay, Sansa let out a yelp. "Have I displeased you?" Joffrey asked in an abrupt tone, feeling his ears going hot. He stared at Sansa in an incredulous way.  _Baby,_ he thought,  _just as much of a baby as Tommen and Myrcella!_

Sansa shook her head instantly. "You surprised me, Joffrey," she said in an instant, and gave a faint giggle. "Do you think we should go back? Your horse ran off- someone might come, shouldn't we-"

"Do you  _want_ to go back?" he asked sharply, eying Sansa in a careful way. If she was anyone else, he'd suspect she was trying to get away from him. But he knew Sansa wouldn't treat him that way, not after they'd shared such intimacy together.

"No, I don't. I wish to spend as much time with you as I possibly can," said Sansa quickly, her hands fluttering to her hair where she toyed with her curls.

"Good!" Joffrey said brightly, relieved. "I don't want to go back, either! Come, we should walk off the path."  _I might not be able to wait until she's got a clean dress on. I could take her now, fast, against a tree. Perhaps on the ground. Mother would say this kind of exchange is improper but... what does she know anyway? As of late, she's proving that her head is emptier than I would have ever thought._ "Come on!" he said urgently, breaking himself out of his wandering thoughts. His betrothed looked at him, wide-eyed, as he snatched her hand and pulled her past Kill Hill into the deeper cluster of trees beyond the paved path. Joffrey pushed Sansa against the nearest tree and pushed against her mouth once more, carefully nibbling her bottom lip with the very tip of his teeth.

Shadowed by the thick brush, a soft breeze rippled around them, making Sansa's hair flutter like crimson butterflies.  _You're beautiful, you're mine, you're perfect,_ he thought, but he did not say the words aloud. These were weak thoughts that he drove out of his mind immediately. Joffrey's lips wandered over Sansa's cheek where he left light kisses in a trail that wove down her neck and then across her ear. He breathed in, grabbing her breasts in his hands and squeezing them with a soft pressure. His tongue between his teeth, he slid his hands into her bodice and grappled for her nipples. When he found them, he teased them with light pinches, sighing into Sansa's ear. She let out a long, soft moan and he grunted in response, pressing harder against her, his solid groin bumping against her leg.

"I want you," he said in a dry, deep whisper, removing his hands from her bosoms and staring intently at her face. "Do you want me to be inside you again?"

Sansa was silent, her eyes closed tightly. "Not here," she whispered, so quietly that he almost did not hear her.

"Eyes open!" Joffrey snarled, embarrassed by the lack of excitement in her voice. "How dare you suggest that, how dare you! Don't you want me?"

"Yes," Sansa nodded, her eyes immediately opening. She was wide-eyed and he could almost feel her fear. "I want you very much, my king—I—I want your lips on mine and I  _love_ you, I love you more than anything—I'm just afraid someone will come looking for us and—"

"Don't worry, Sansa," Joffrey said, his voice soft again. He breathed deeply, trying to keep calm. "I want to be alone with you, too. Perhaps you're right. Perhaps now is not a good time."

A pretty smile grew on Sansa's face and she nodded. "Yes! Yes, thank you, Joffrey! I agree! I feel we should go find your poor horse, shall we go?"

Joffrey nodded, and kissed the corner of her mouth lightly, feeling Sansa's breathing grow rapid once more. "A fine idea," he agreed, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. "And I can visit you in your chambers tonight!" He smiled and led Sansa back toward the path. At her silence, Joffrey snapped his head toward her and squeezed her hand even harder. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes," Sansa said in a low voice, keeping his eye contact. "I'd like that very much, Joffrey."

"Good," he said, grinning. "But it wouldn't really matter if you liked it or not. I  _will_ have you again, Lady Sansa. Still, it pleases me to know you feel the same! It seems you are becoming smarter! I had my doubts about our betrothal, but it has been so nice to get along with you this week. I've enjoyed your company."

The birds chirped in the trees as they walked, and the shining sun followed them persistently as they trailed the pathway toward the castle. Sansa's hand was limp in Joffrey's but she still held onto him. "Yes, it's been very nice. I enjoy dining with you and I'm very pleased to have made you happy."

"It's good to be with someone so agreeable," Joffrey went on, enjoying the sound of his own voice as usual. "My mother and uncle have been thorns in my side this entire week! Can you believe my uncle would speak against me? He questioned me and insulted me! I really wish I could have him strung up by his feet so I could use him as target practice for my crossbow!" Joffrey laughed at the thought of it. "It would be great fun, don't you think?" He dropped Sansa's hand to make a motion of shooting an arrow with a bow and imitated the sound of the arrow swooshing through the air. "Right in the heart!" He grinned at Sansa brightly, but was dismayed to see her subdued expression. "Oh come on, it's a laugh!"

Sansa smiled back weakly. "It's very funny, Joffrey. But your uncle was likely only trying to help you—"

"No," Joffrey said abruptly, shaking his head from side to side. He put his arm around Sansa's waist. "You don't know anything about it. My uncle is a menace, a bigger pain than you'd expect from such a little imp." He laughed but then his brow furrowed with the memory of the awfulness of yesterday. "And then my  _mother_ had the nerve to tell me I'd made the wrong decision about the maid!"

"Oh. The maid whose hands were cut off?" asked Sansa in a quiet tone.

Joffrey tightened his grip on her waist. "Yes, her. My mother said there was evidence she didn't steal anything at all, and tried to guilt me by telling me I'd had an honest woman punished but if she hadn't stolen anything yet, she surely would!" He sniffed the air haughtily. "I have great intuition about such things—"

"She didn't steal anything?" Sansa asked, and Joffrey sent her a questioning glance. "I mean, you're absolutely correct, I'm certain she would have stolen something. Is this why…" She stopped talking.

"Why what?" Joffrey said, but Sansa did not reply. He stopped in his tracks, bringing them both to a halt, leaves crackling under their feet. The birds sang around them, chattering and chanting. "Why  _what?"_ Joffrey pressed.

"I just was worried about you yesterday," Sansa said quickly. "You were not at dinner and the queen said you were feeling unwell, and I was only going to ask if that was why—if you were angry at your mother and uncle, I'd understand certainly, you have good reason—"

"Stop babbling!" Joffrey shouted, suddenly feeling rage surging through him like a violent wave. "My mother said  _what?"_

Sansa's tone grew hurried and fearful. "I was sorry for your absence at dinner, my king! Your mother only said that you were feeling unwell—"

"What  _exactly_ did she say? TELL ME!" Joffrey hollered, his face growing hot with shame.  _How dare Mother open her fat mouth! How dare she tell my lady about my personal business? What if Mother heard me crying? What if she told Lady Sansa? How dare she!_

"Just that you had a bad day, Joffrey! Nothing else! And I was only worried because I wanted to see you, I just wondered if you were doing poorly—"

"I was NOT DOING POORLY," Joffrey insisted. "I was only tired! It's very difficult to be in charge of an entire kingdom, something you'd never know about since you're just a stupid, ridiculous little girl!

"I didn't say anything, Joffrey—I didn't mean offense—please don't be upset!"

"I'M NOT UPSET," Joffrey bellowed, balling his fists at his side. "You don't know anything about it!"

"It's not—I'm not—" Sansa drew a breath, and shook her head. "Please, Joffrey! I care about you—don't—please—" She reached out to touch his hand and he jumped back as though she were about to wound him.

"Don't you dare touch me without my permission!" he said, eyes wild, hands up and blocking himself from her. He went flaccid at once, feeling the hot feeling of disgrace pulse through him like a sickness. He wanted her away from him, far away. "DON'T. EVER. TOUCH. ME." Sansa's arm was paused in midair and she'd gone moon-white, her eyes wide and scared. Joffrey wanted to slap her hard across the face. He glared at her, hating her all over again.  _The l_ _ittle bitch,_ he thought,  _she needs to be punished! She's obviously learned nothing!_ At that moment, Joffrey remembered the riding crop he'd stowed in his coat.

"I'm really sorry, Joffrey-"

" _Your grace,_ " he corrected in a crisp tone. "You've insulted me and so I wish for you to address me formally! And I have an idea to make up for your disrespect."

"Lady Stark. King Joffrey," said a gruff, loud voice. "I've come to see if you need assistance- the horse came back unattended. And then I heard shouting."

Joffrey and Sansa both turned to face the speaker. It was the Hound, who bowed his head as soon as Joffrey made eye contact with him. "Ah, hello Dog," greeted Joffrey in an overly courteous tone. "You actually arrived just in time." A strange sort of smile curled upon his thin, long mouth as he removed the riding crop and held it outstretched in his hand. "My lady chose to insult my honor by asking personal questions about my pastime. I'd like for you to teach her a lesson."

The Hound's dull eyes dropped to Joffrey's hand, and back up to meet his gaze. "And what, pray tell, do you ask for me to do, my king?"

"I want you to strike her, good and hard," Joffrey said, folding his arms and smiling smugly. "I want you to strike her until she realizes what she's done wrong!"

"But- your grace!" Sansa protested in a nervous voice. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to offend you! And I only mentioned what your mother said, I really didn't mean any harm-"

"And that, Lady Sansa, is why you need to be punished! I can't have you flapping your mouth every time you have a foolish thought!" Joffrey said in a snap. "Here, Dog!" he said joyfully, already feeling in control again and thus better. "Ten strikes will do nicely. Mind her face. Sansa, lift your skirts so that my Hound might hit your legs! I don't wish for him to soil the gown."

The Hound did not budge. Joffrey scowled and impatiently put one hand on his hip. "Dog, don't just stand there. Take the riding crop and beat my lady!  _Do it!"_ He turned toward Sansa again. "Pull up your skirts! Now!"

Sansa let out a whimper and did as she was told, putting both hands to her dress and lifting it off the pathway. Joffrey grinned as she exposed her smooth, pale legs. He was reminded instantly of her pulling up her nightgown for him, of shoving his hand inside her and then his dick while she shrieked and sobbed into his chest. But the Hound still hesitated, and Joffrey finally thrust the crop at his chest, scowling.

"Do as I say, Dog!" he ordered, stomping the ground. "Are you impaired?"

"No, your grace," the Hound muttered, grasping the crop in his large, gnarled hand. "I'm only wondering whether you'd rather me beat Lady Stark in front of the court. Wouldn't that serve more of a purpose? Shouldn't she be shamed for all to see?" He bowed his head again.

Joffrey considered this idea, tapping his foot and pursing his lips. He remembered how wonderful it had been to see Sansa stripped and slapped around. Perhaps today, Uncle Imp would be absent and he could order Sansa to be completely naked! "Hm," he said aloud, "yes, a splendid idea, Dog." Sansa let out a small cry of protest, her legs shaking. "But, I'd much rather you do it now. She needs her lesson as soon as possible."

The Hound nodded, looking tired. "As you wish, my king. I shall strike on three, Lady Stark-"

"Why in the world would you announce that to her?" demanded Joffrey. "She doesn't need a warning! Do it! Beat her!"

At that, the Hound struck fast, smacking Sansa's leg with the riding crop. It made a soft  _thwack!_ She squealed at the impact and then let out a small cry.

"Harder, Hound! I want to really hear the riding crop snap!" Joffrey yelled in a jovial tone, rubbing his hands together.

The Hound nodded, but seemed to hesitate  _again_ as he pulled his arm back to deliver the blow. Joffrey narrowed his eyes, beginning to scrutinize the scene. It seemed that his dog was granting Sansa some sort of pathetic mercy, but  _why?_ What was the Stark girl to Ser Clegane anyway? The Hound did not like anybody or anything at all, this Joffrey knew. So why was he sparing Sansa? It was no secret the Hound was a rough, violent man who had killed or maimed nearly all of his opponents to Joffrey's great delight. Why couldn't he hit a little girl?  _Thwack,_ went the riding crop as the Hound snapped it against Sansa's leg again. A thin welt swelled up on her skin, but Joffrey was still unsatisfied.

"Give it to me!" Joffrey demanded sharply. Clegane slowly gave the riding crop back to him. Joffrey snatched it and immediately pulled his arm back as far as he could manage while still keeping a firm, straight grip on the crop. He brought it back down through the air with an intense force and revelled in the forceful crack it made against Sansa's bare leg. She let out a scream. "Oh, now, that's better! That's much, much better!" hooted Joffrey. Another angry red line popped up on her skin. "Yes!" he cheered. "I drew blood! Look, Dog! Look!" He turned around, grinning, to see the Hound glaring down at him. The instant Joffrey saw his face, Clegane's expression became blank. "Is something wrong?" Joffrey asked in a snarl.

"Not a thing, your grace. You are doing well-"

"You were looking at me with an ugly expression," Joffrey said, pouting.

"Pardon me, my king. I cannot help my face," replied the Hound in a bitter mumble and Joffrey gave a short laugh.

"No, I suppose you can't. Very well," he replied, but he knew he'd have to keep a closer eye upon his dog.  _He was in my lady's corridor, and now he's acting oddly in her presence. There's something at work here and I don't much like it. I'll be more watchful._ _But now, there's a punishment happening. I'll have to think about this matter with my Hound another time._ For the time being, he ignored the Hound's bizarre behavior and struck Sansa again, smiling at her shrieks. By the eighth swing of the riding crop, Sansa's legs had a fair few red marks, and the thin line of blood was slowly dribbling down her leg. "Don't ruin the dress," Joffrey instructed her as he took her arm, feeling the twitch of another hard-on. "And I think you should dine in your own chambers tonight. I want this to be part of your lesson. Don't go sticking your nose where it doesn't belong."

Sansa had tears rolling down her face as she gingerly took Joffrey's arm. "Yes, your grace," she replied in a low voice. "I'm so sorry."

"How did it feel?" asked Joffrey as they begun to walk back to the castle, the Hound leading. "Me beating you, that is."

"It hurt," said Sansa at once. "It really hurt."

"Good," said Joffrey. He'd taken great pleasure in administering his own beating. It was great fun to watch others torture each other, but the feeling of smacking Sansa with the crop had been truly erotic. He suddenly had a strong urge to shove her into his room and beat her bloody before fucking her senseless.  _Not yet,_ he told himself,  _she's been bad and she needs to realize she cannot speak to you so. You must not be so attached to her! She's obviously still an idiot and she needs to learn her lesson well! Let her wait for you for awhile, let her wonder when you're going to pay her a visit. In time, you can have your way with her._ He smiled that wide smile the entire way to the castle and continued smiling after bidding Sansa goodbye. He threw a glance at the Hound before giving Sansa a soft kiss on the lips. When he turned back to gauge the Hound's reaction, he could have sworn he saw a look of longing in the man's bleary eyes.

_Interesting. Very interesting._

 


	9. The Hound, the Bird and the Lion's Den

* * *

 

 

SANSA

* * *

 

"Farewell, Sansa. I hope you think about your actions today," said King Joffrey sweetly after he'd pressed his lips to Sansa's mouth. "I'm going to leave you to return to your chambers. My Hound can see that you are safely escorted back. You shall take your supper in your room tonight, and I will let you know when I wish to see you again." The king's mountain cat eyes glittered with maliciousness, and Sansa felt her stomach turn. King Joffrey gave a dismissive bow, almost like he was mocking her. With that, he turned on his heel and left, the afternoon sun shining in his golden hair.

Sansa wiped her eyes yet again, trying desperately to stop the tears from flowing but her legs stung deeply where the Hound and Joffrey had whipped her with the riding crop. She'd expected the Hound to hit a lot harder, but it did not matter. Joffrey had used all of his strength and she could feel the places on her legs where the thin rivers of blood were flowing. She needed a bath, and she was already anticipating that the cuts and welts would burn in the hot bath water. Not wanting to converse with Ser Clegane, she dropped her head down and continued walking toward the entrance of the castle. Whether he followed her or not, she did not care.

The afternoon had gone from horrifying, to slightly better, to absolutely abysmal. The king's ever changing moods were too hard to keep up with. Being sweet to him irritated him. Admiring him worked, but only so much. Laughing at his jokes worked, but sometimes he seemed like he was joking when he was not, and then it would be the opposite a moment later. Sansa had heard Lord Tyrion call Joffrey witless, but she could see it was much more than that. King Joffrey seemed to be completely mad at times.  _Worse than mad._   _Raving insane._

Kill Hill had left Sansa feeling even more terrified of King Joffrey.  _How many creatures has he harmed?_ she'd thought as he kissed her and mauled her breasts against the tree.  _Is he joking?_ she'd thought, and then had tried, desperately, to try and leave her head. To get far away from him again, as she'd done while they sat horseback and he'd demanded her to fondle him. Try as she might, she couldn't get away from him again though once had been a small sign of progress. Again, the worst part was that the things Joffrey was doing to her body did not feel altogether bad. She'd even moaned at the touch of his slightly cool fingers pinching and caressing her nipples, and his mouth felt good on her ear, on her neck.  _I will be punished for this,_ she thought, feeling the tears begin again.  _I can't even imagine what they'd say if they knew, Mother and Robb. Jon. Arya would call me names. And I'd deserve each and every one she hurled at me._ Still, murdereing helpless animals? Had Joffrey been toying with her? She wanted to hope so. If Joffrey was any other boy, perhaps.

 _He wasn't._ He was a boy who'd had her father murdered right in front of her and then shown off his rotting head to her like a trophy, he'd called her sister a "cunt" and threatened to "gut" her. He screamed at his own mother and mocked his little brother for fun. She'd seen him ask a minstrel if he'd rather have his tongue or his fingers, and he'd apparently punished a maid who'd done absolutely wrong. Sansa had nearly thrown up when the maid's hands had been chopped off in the court; she'd actually driven the event out of her mind, she'd been so traumatized. She wished she  _could_ believe her betrothed would leave animals alone. But Sansa was no longer biased when it came to King Joffrey ( _"my prince, my sweet prince, what have they done to you?",_ it seemed so long ago now, so, so long ago). She was fairly certain that the boy was capable of anything and everything.

"Nothing to say?" wheezed Ser Clegane from behind her. "No chirps today? No songs?"

The tears blurring her vision, Sansa turned around and shot the Hound a hateful look. "I have no idea what you mean," she said primly. "Please, I just want to go back to my chambers-"

"You look at me as if I am the one who put you in harm's way," the Hound said in a dark tone, narrowing his eyes. He lowered his voice, stepping toward the wall in the hallway and beckoning Sansa to come closer.

She set her jaw and shook her head. "I want to go back!" she said, the tears flowing again.  _I can't face the Hound. I can't do it! He's just going to make fun of me! I know he is. I'm not his little bird! I'm not!_

"You can be afraid of me," he snarled, "I'm used to it. But you're a damned foolish girl. Do you think I put that riding crop in my own hand? Is that what you saw? Going to lie for your sweet king again, let your dim brain fib to your eyes? It was orders, little bird, and I tried to go easy on you and you didn't even catch on. I would have given you all ten strokes that way, too, if you'd have at least  _acted_ like it hurt worse! The king may not be quick-witted but he knows pain like Lord Tyrion knows wine- he could see you weren't hurt, that I wasn't trying my hardest to beat you bloody. Who am I to get between you and your beloved King Joffrey? Maybe you  _liked_ those welts he put on you!"

Sansa stared at the Hound, deciding how to reply. His tone was scathing and made her feel raw, embarrassed. Had he really been trying to save her from pain, or was he just playing with her? She drew a breath. "You were... trying to spare me pain?" she asked quietly. The hallway was deserted, but it seemed someone was always listening and Sansa was never confident she was having a private conversation. She was never alone, not really.

"You're not very sharp, are you?" he asked rudely.

"I'm not used to people trying to help me in this place," Sansa snapped, sniffling.  _Stop crying,_ she told herself.  _Stop!_  She put on what she hoped was a solemn expression. "Why should I believe you? You wanted to put me in front of the court!"

The Hound gave a short, barking laugh, making Sansa's cheeks burn. "And why do you think I suggested that?" he scoffed.

 _How should I know? Because you're his dog,_ Sansa thought angrily, narrowing her eyes.

"If the King were to have you beaten in front of people, there'd be a far greater chance you'd be  _saved,"_ Ser Clegane said in a sharp tone, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I've never seen him beat anyone himself until today. I'm preparing myself for new horrors. He's likely patting himself on the back right now. He's had a taste of blood," he said in a bitter tone, a grim smile forming on his crooked face. "I can't say I don't know the feeling, but killing is my duty. The king destroys things for fun but I suppose he's grown past kittens and peahens." The Hound laughed again, a dry and cynical sound, his shoulders heaving. His hair moved with his laughter and exposed that burned, sore spot on his face.

Sansa immediately looked away, not wanting to stare.  _Kill Hill,_ she thought, her heart dropping as she tried to focus, tried to piece the Hound's words together. "You were trying to help me? But why?"

"I woke up in a good mood today. No real reason," retorted the Hound with a roll of his eyes. He stuck a dirty, gnarled finger in her face. "And don't go chirping about this. To anyone. Unless you want your king to punish you again, my wingless little bird-"

"I won't say anything," Sansa said quickly. Why would she? And who would she tell, if anyone? "Thank you, Ser. Thank you very much-"

"For what?" he asked gruffly with a shrug of his muscular shoulders. "I trust you can find your chambers on your own now. Go on. Fly off, little bird. But fly carefully, particularly around your king. It's much easier to get on with him if you do as he says."

 _Just do as he says? Ha. That might be easier for you than me,_ Sansa thought to herself, cheeks red,  _after all, you work for him and you're bigger than him. You're in the Kingsguard and you protect him from danger. This is your home and you've known no other life. Joffrey has taken my family and I'm all I have. He's taken everything from me, even my maidenhead. I'm never going to be free of him, ever, and he can take me whenever he wants. He may even lie with me tonight if he wishes. You have absolutely no idea about what I'm going through. You do not know who I am. I'm not even sure who I am anymore._

"Thank you again, Ser," Sansa said before ducking her head down and hurrying off toward her chambers, fresh tears rolling down her face.

* * *

JOFFREY

* * *

 

 

Flushed and slightly out of breath, King Joffrey strolled into the dining room and flopped into the chair at the head of the table. He cast a smug expression upon his siblings and mother before pouring himself a large goblet of wine. He was simply ravenous after spending the afternoon masturbating frantically. He'd been rock hard after leaving Sansa's company and had touched himself while imagining beating her until she had lines of blood covering her entire body like a patchwork quilt. Although Joffrey had been hoping he could begin to get off while thinking simply of making love to Sansa, it had felt too good. It was too difficult to come unless Joffrey was imagining women bloody and abused. He could try to change his fantasies some other time. He'd collapsed onto his pillows after ejaculating, completely spent, and had awoken just in time for supper in a fantastic mood.

Spearing a generous portion of lamb, Joffrey finally realized how very quiet his family was tonight. It was a bit eerie. Generally, his siblings were obnoxiously chatty and Mother was generous with her insipid opinions. He smirked at Cersei from across the table. "This is a very nice change from usual," he said loudly, "I very much enjoy actually being able to hear myself think!"

"Joffrey, we must discuss a serious matter," Cersei said with a heavy tone, and it was then that Joffrey realized Myrcella had tears running down her face. Tommen's head was bent over his plate and he was half-heartedly sweeping his food from side to side.

"Well, what is it? Be quick," Joffrey said casually through a mouthful of lamb.

Mother cleared her throat, and Joffrey looked at her, raising his eyebrow in annoyance. "It's your sister," she replied and sighed. She reached out and grabbed for Myrcella's hand, and Myrcella burst into a messy bout of sobbing. This was odd; Mother did not usually much care for Myrcella and Joffrey had always guessed that Mother felt the same way about his sister as he did: that she was an empty-headed, boring little brat. But now suddenly Mother was stroking Myrcella's hair.

Joffrey wrinkled his nose in disgust and stared. "What  _about_ my sister?" he asked before draining his goblet of wine and pouring another.

"Your Uncle Tyrion has seen it fit to ship Princess Myrcella off to Dorne!" Mother said in a gasp, clutching Myrcella harder still. "He's going to have her wed to some nameless prince, some brute not worth my darling babe- your Uncle Tyrion has reached new heights in evil!"

Tommen began to cry, too, and Joffrey rolled his eyes.  _What have I done to deserve this?_ he thought miserably. "So what?" he questioned, and Cersei raised up her head to stare into his eyes.

"My sweet Joffrey, you must be joking! You'd have your only sister go off to marry a stranger? Surely you cannot mean it! Can you not see why I am in pain?" she questioned, looking a bit disturbed. She continued to pet Myrcella and Joffrey watched with a cold expression, trying to remember the last time Mother cradled  _him_ in her arms instead of striking him and questioning his judgment.

"I think you are a stupid woman," Joffrey said stalely, and paused to take another bite of lamb. His family watched him wordlessly until he'd finished chewing and swallowed. "And furthermore, I don't see why this disturbs you so much. A woman's purpose is to marry and bear children. Do you not agree, Mother?"

"I agree," Cersei said crisply, wiping Myrcella's tears with a silk napkin. "But she is much too young! I would not wish to send Myrcella, my only daughter, to endure the same fate I had of marrying a complete stranger and-"

"Do you dare disrespect my late Father?" asked Joffrey, settling back in his chair and crossing his arms. "And furthermore, do you mean to suggest you regret your life's path?"

"Joffrey, you know I have nothing but love for you children. You are my life-"

"Ah, good," said Joffrey with a sneer. "Then, you can see how Myrcella will be fufilling her purpose." His eyes flashed as he stared intently at his sister. "Just think," he began with a short laugh, "you'll finally have some worth once you have a baby in you. You'll be doing your duty of pleasing your husband! I ought to be offering you congratulations!" He sniggered.

" _Joffrey,"_ Mother said tersely as he continued to laugh.

Myrcella met Joffrey's eyes briefly before averting her gaze, her shoulders shaking as she continued to cry. "I don't wish to go, I don't wish to go!" she muttered, tears staining her red face.

 _"I don't wish to go,"_ mocked Joffrey in a high voice before taking another deep drink from his goblet. "Mother, you have told my sister about how it all works, have you not? You've prepared her for what's in store for her? If not, allow me-"

"I've said enough," said Cersei firmly. "Would it hurt you to offer your sister support? A bit of kindness?"

Joffrey ignored her. "Myrcella!" he said, unable to mask a grin. "When your new husband puts his cock inside you, it will likely hurt you greatly! But perhaps after you've gotten stretched out a bit, you'll learn to enjoy it!" He burst into giggles.

Mother was out of her chair in an instant. She stood above Myrcella with her hands clamped over the girl's ears, but Joffrey noticed with great amusement that his sister was crying harder, her face a deep shade of pink. Tommen was gaping at Joffrey with wide eyes. The queen finally pulled her hands from his sister's ears. "Myrcella, Tommen! You may leave to your chambers! Elena!" she snapped, addressing the handmaiden who was hanging dutifully by the wall with a pitcher of wine. "See that the prince and princess return to their chambers!"

"I'm only helping, Mother!" Joffrey called out as his brother and sister rose to their feet. "Myrcella needs to be prepared! After all, you wouldn't want her marriage to end up like yours. Let it be a lesson to you, dear sister," he beamed. "Displease your husband and you'll wind up cast out of the bed while he fucks all the whores he likes."

"NOW!" screamed Mother at the handmaiden, who took both Tommen and Myrcella by the hands and led them out of the dining hall on quick feet. "Joffrey, what in the  _Gods_ is driving you to say these terrible things?" she shouted, wheeling around and walking toward him with firey question in her green eyes.

Joffrey lazily swung one leg over the other and smirked. "I just don't see why you baby her. She's leaving to Dorne. It doesn't affect me in the slightest. I'll be happy to see her go. I just hope she doesn't cry while her new husband fucks her, we may get her shipped back to us-"

"You speak of things you know nothing about," Mother said, taking a deep breath and lowering her voice. He felt a spark of anger and was about to protest when his mother sighed again. She took a seat beside Joffrey and fixed him with a look of deep question. When she spoke, her voice was soft. "You're still a boy, still young-"

"I know more than you think," said Joffrey with a tight smile, and he was pleased to see the hurt look that appeared on Cersei's face.  _Enough,_ he told himself,  _enough._

"And what do you know, Joffrey?" Mother sounded skeptical. Skeptical and tired.

Joffrey waved his hand like he was smacking away an irritating fly. "Nevermind that. I'd like to ask you why you're spreading lies to Lady Sansa about me being ill. You know, there are certain things you really shouldn't say to her! She does not deserve to know."

"What did she say to you?" asked Mother sharply. "I only mentioned you needed time alone-"

" _You_   _shouldn't have mentioned anything,"_ Joffrey hissed, fixing her with a moody glower. "She's going to think I can't handle myself, she was babying me like I was a small child-"

"She's to be your wife and she's a sensitive girl, Joffrey," said Mother quietly. "She likely is only trying to help you. She's a very weak girl, obsessed with fairytales and songs. She's told me she loves you. It's very sweet."

Joffrey felt the twitch of a smile on his face, but immediately tried to cover it. "But you said that love-"

-"Is a poison," finished Mother with a tight sneer. "Yes, and it is true. She'll learn, as the days go by, not to give her heart away so freely."

After being silent for a few moments, Joffrey spoke in a small voice: "What if I  _want_ her to love me? What if I want her to love and fear me equally? Would that be so bad?"

"I've never known you to be a weak person, Joffrey. Is that why you've been spending more time with her? Are your feelings for her growing too deep? Don't tell me you love Sansa Stark," said Mother, and reached for his hand.

Joffrey pulled back, furrowing his eyebrows. "No," he said immediately. "I'm only asking  _what if._ I don't love her. Far from it. I absolutely hate her," he lied effortlessly.

"You don't have to  _hate_ her," laughed Mother. "Family is all that matters," she continued, and Joffrey nodded because he'd heard her say it constantly. "I love you and your brother and sister with all my heart. Now that Myrcella is leaving, I feel a piece of my heart breaking but I am  _so_  happy I have my boys here. And I'll always be here for you, Joffrey. You are my firstborn, my confidant. You are more important to me than anyone in the world. You know that."

"I know, Mother. I know," he agreed, nodding and smiling at her. He reached out and took Mother's hand in his own and she squeezed his fingers lightly.

"I've loved you from the day you were born and I will love you from this day..." Mother began, trailing off and looking to Joffrey expectantly.

"-until my last," Joffrey finished, and she smoothed his hair, smiling at him adoringly. It was something Cersei had told him since before he could even remember, a special thing between them that he'd never heard Cersei utter to his siblings.  _She still loves me best,_ he thought happily.  _And she's right about Sansa. I've got to stay away from her for some time now. Punish her. Make her wait. I don't wish to care for her, I don't want to be filled with that poison, that filthy feeling of neediness. Mother is absolutely right._ When he broke out of his thoughts, his mother was staring at him piercingly, a strange smile on her lips. Again, she brought her hand to his hair and stroked his bangs, smiling that peculiar smile. She leaned toward him slightly, as though preparing to embrace him. "Mother?" Joffrey asked. "What are you doing?"

Cersei seemed to break out of her trance and immediately pulled her hand away. "It's odd," she said in a light tone, pursing her lips and rising to her feet. "You looked so much like your Uncle Jaime just then. You two are so similar in looks sometimes."

Joffrey shrugged and continued with supper. Sometimes Mother had strange moments. Over the years, he'd learned to simply ignore her when she got like this.


	10. Prayers

 

 

* * *

 

SANSA

* * *

A week went by, and then two weeks passed. Sansa went about her lessons, sewed, and produced drawings but she did not enjoy one moment of it. Everytime she heard a noise, everytime she was alone or lying awake in bed, she was certain it was King Joffrey come to defile her again. He'd promised, hadn't he? He had still banned her from taking her meals with he and his family unless he chose to dine alone, and when that occured, Queen Cersei said absolutely nothing about his intentions. She saw him in court but it was as though she was invisible- King Joffrey would sneer in her general direction and immediately turn his head whenever she mistakenly locked eyes with him. On the very few occasions she'd caught glimpses of him parading about the gardens or halls with the Hound on his heels, Sansa had quickly ducked behind armor or slunk into a corner, praying to go unnoticed.

_"He's ignoring me, Shae,"_ she told her handmaiden in a confused whisper.  _"It's exactly like when I first arrived here, when he was still angry about Nymeria injuring him. I'd try so hard to get his attention and he'd look away! I haven't been asked to dine with him since before we went riding!"_

_"You seem distraught!"_ Shae had replied, setting Sansa's supper on the bedside table.  _"Isn't this what you want?"_

_"It makes me nervous,"_ Sansa said, feeling a chill as she uttered the words.  _"This way, I never know when to expect him. He could find me at any moment. It's making me sick. He says that he's teaching me a lesson by leaving me be, but I thought I'd see him by now."_

Shae laughed darkly.  _"Some lesson this is. Perhaps you can inform him of how much you are learning from being away from him if he speaks to you again-"_

But Sansa did not find it amusing, not in the least. She wondered if the king had grown bored of her as he often did with everything else in his life, and if maybe he would leave her be until they were wed, until she'd be able to bear his children. Sansa knew she could not be optimistic, though. Likely, this was just another game Joffrey was playing. She imagined him laughing alone in his chambers, smug at the obvious fact she was scared out of her wits anticipating him visiting her again.

On the fourth week of being suspiciously ignored, Sansa passed the throne room on her way to the Godswood and stopped in her tracks as soon as she heard the king's loud, piercing voice. Willing herself not to look, she kept staring straight ahead until he heard another voice, a child's voice. Without really thinking, Sansa turned to look. King Joffrey was waving something around while chasing Tommen, who was protesting. Sansa squinted, and finally realized with some terror that the object in Joffrey's hands was a scepter, a scepter with gnarled antlers at the end of it. He was holding it high above his head and swinging it to and fro.

"Joff! Please! Don't!" squealed Tommen.

"You stupid little pig!" Joffrey replied. "Don't tell Mother lies about me! If I hear you've been talking about me again, I'll skin you alive and make a coat out of you. Just like I did with your precious fawn!"

"No! I didn't lie!" Tommen protested and burst into tears, seeming to run out of breath. He fell to his knees and cowered on the floor. Sansa looked around wildly, but it seemed no one was there.  _Where is the Hound? The rest of the Kingsguard? They cannot be far! They wouldn't really let Joffrey hurt his own brother, would they?_ She remembered what Tommen had said:  _When Joffy gets you alone, the bad things happened._ Unable to move her eyes, Sansa paled.

"What did you say, then?" Joffrey demanded, his treacherous playful tone dissolving into a hateful snap. He stood above his brother, wielding the scepter above his head like a battle axe. "WHAT DID YOU SAY ABOUT ME TO MOTHER, YOU LITTLE SHIT?" His cruel voice echoed off the high ceiling and walls, contrasting deeply with the way his crown glittered on his pretty blond head like a halo.

"Nothing!" Tommen wailed, and Joffrey brought the scepter down on his brother's shoulder.  _Whack!_ Tommen let out a shriek. Sansa's eyes welled up with tears. She felt frozen to the floor.  _Poor, poor sweet prince Tommen!_ she thought desperately,  _though I am quite relieved it is not me._ At this uncensored, evil thought, Sansa bit her own lip hard, feeling terrible and embarrassed.  _I really need to pray! That's terrible thing to think. Am I losing my mind? Tommen is a child, how dare I think something like-_ But Joffrey's voice cut through her thoughts.

"She told me to behave myself around you and Myrcella! DOES THAT SOUND LIKE NOTHING TO YOU?"  _Whack,_ went the scepter again.

Tommen cried loudly, his fists balled and head hung down. "Joffy, I didn't, I didn't-"

"It's against the realm to lie to a king!" Joffrey bellowed. "It's  _TREASON!"_

"I hardly said a thing, Joffy, I swear! I told her about the fire, I was scared and I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

_The fire?_ thought Sansa nervously.  _Gods, what's Joffrey done now?_

_"_ Well," said Joffrey with a thin smile, "that doesn't sound like nothing. Does it?" He pulled back his hand again and Sansa drew a breath, clenching her hands at her sides.

"NO!" she screamed, and the echo of her own voice down the hall of the throne room put a turn in her stomach.

At the sound of her shout, King Joffrey dropped the scepter onto the ground with a  _crack._ Tommen leapt up and ran out of the throne room, brushing past Sansa as he went. "No?" asked Joffrey loudly, turning toward the entrance and fixing Sansa with a wide-eyed stare that sent shivers throughout her entire body. "DID. YOU. SAY. NO?" he screamed, and Sansa realized right then how poor a decision this had been. King Joffrey was in one of his completely rageful moods,  _raving insanity,_  one of those moods where he ordered people to be hanged or chopped to bits and pieces. There would be no getting out of this unless she thought fast and even then the odds were not in her favor.

"It's just- he's a little boy, Joffrey, I mean, your grace! Surely you wouldn't have a little boy as your opponent. You'd be much better matched with a man your own size!" Sansa said quickly, her voice coming out in a cracked squeak.  _He's going to wring your neck with his own hands._

"Come here," Joffrey commanded, waving her forward. "Approach your king!"

Sansa ducked her head down, going red in the face as she walked forward. She wondered where Joffrey's men were, and whether Joffrey would dare try something in the open.  _He just nearly beat Tommen! He will do the same to me. Worse, if the Hound is right! He said Joffrey has tasted blood now. But I think Joffrey has had a taste for blood since long ago. I should have kept my mouth shut, I could have gotten help, stayed hidden!_

"What gives you the right to speak to me so?" asked Joffrey, eyes flashing. His mouth turned down in an intense frown. "It's improper to shout at a king, particularly to tell him  _No._ "

"I have no right to speak to you like that, or at all, your grace," Sansa whispered, her entire body shaking.

"That is right," said Joffrey plainly, flexing his fingers. He gave her a look-over and glared deeper. "Your words are sweet and full of respect yet you still dishonor me. I told you I did not wish to look at you. Didn't I? I told you it was part of your lesson and that  _I'd_ come to you if I so pleased. Did I not?"

Sansa swallowed hard, a lump forming in her throat as though she had swallowed a fruit pit. "You did, your grace," she managed to say, feeling her legs quaking as the king strode toward her, gliding as if he were a snake preparing to strike her. "It's just- I hate to see squabbling. It reminds me of my little siblings, they were always arguing. Don't you think your mother could have settled it? I'm sure Tommen didn't mean offense- he's such a good boy-"

"Oh, yes, he's a  _good_ boy," said Joffrey with a roll of his eyes, "a good, boring, foolish boy. My mother thinks he is as asinine as I do. And I'd like to keep it that way. My mother also does not need to know everything that happens in this castle. I'd think you would understand that." A tight little sneer formed on Joffrey's smooth face and Sansa felt herself blushing hot.

"Your grace, I meant no harm against you-you obviously can do what you wish," she said quickly, her eyes flicking from side to side. There was nowhere to run or hide, nothing but wide, open space. "Whatever you wish."

Joffrey stepped closer to her. He was close enough that she smelled him, that clean-clothes, honeyed, musky scent. It rocked her stomach as he took another stepped and placed a hand on her waist. His jade eyes narrowed into slits, the pouty, thin mouth curved into a mocking smile. When he spoke, she could smell the faint hint of sweet wine on him and she shuddered as he moved his mouth into her ear, licking her earlobe in a flicking motion. "And we know what would happen if everyone knew what you did," the king said in a hot whisper, running his hand from her waist to her behind. Sansa stayed rooted to the spot, her eyes shutting tight as she tried to think of something to do, some way to escape. "Don't we?" he rasped, kissing her ear lightly.

" _Yes,_ " Sansa whispered, her eyes screwed shut. She tried to focus on the patterns behind her eyelids: those stars and bright colors, she wanted to be where they were,  _some place far away, shrouded in darkness, surrounded by swirls, somewhere away from Joffrey and the queen and maybe Arya would be there, alive, and Mother, and Robb and Bran and Rickon and the others, and they'd try to be happy again, forget all this business, and they'd forgive Sansa for her foolishness, for her betrayal of the family, they'd take her back, and they'd never let him have her again._

"Because if they did," Joffrey was saying, "you'd be as worthless as those whores I played with after my Name Day and no one will ever, ever want you." His voice took on a high-pitched, lazy tone of joviality. "You certainly won't marry. You'd only be fit for a brothel, or else I'd keep you here for my own amusement for as long as I wish. It's lucky for you I still let you live here now, that I still wish to marry you. Don't you see how fortunate you are?"

" _Yes,"_  Sansa muttered, nodding, as Joffrey once again put his mouth to her ear and kissed her there. She moaned, squirming in his grasp. She felt a pulsing feeling between her legs and her stomach did a somersault.  _No, no, no, please , no-_

"You  _like_ that," Joffrey said with a scornful laugh and pinched her thigh. " _Say you like it,"_ he muttered, that kind, clear, tone tricking her brain.  _But I know what you are. I know you._ "Say it!" he hissed, pinching her harder.

"No," snapped Sansa, ignoring the wobbling of her thighs, and her eyes flashed open as soon as she realized her hideous mistake.

Joffrey moved fast, gripping her hard by the wrists and pulling her close, his teeth gritted and his eyes angry. "You  _filthy little_  cunt," he hissed, "I should have you beaten. Better yet, I'll do it myself!" His voice was suddenly high and enthusiastic, like he'd gotten a new toy. He turned, obviously trying to calculate how to get his scepter. A smile flickered on his face again. "Fetch it," he said, gesturing, "fetch my scepter and bring it to me-"

"Please, please," Sansa begged, her voice warbling. She shut her eyes again, trying to say a silent prayer.

"FETCH IT," hollered Joffrey, but then suddenly, he shoved her off of him. Sansa stumbled to the floor, eyes opening at once as she caught herself with her hands.

"What's the meaning of this?"

Sansa breathed a sigh at the sound of Lord Tyrion's voice.  _He can't have seen much, and Joffrey wouldn't dare continue in front of him! Thank you, thank you, thank you for listening!_

"Nothing," Joffrey whined and Sansa looked up in time to see him stomping his foot. She wished she could roll her own eyes at him, slap him hard across the face; even Bran didn't act this way and he was much younger than Joffrey! "I told her it was improper, that we're not to be married yet and so I pushed her off me-"

"Ah, how pious of you, my dear nephew, " the little lord said, his articulate voice ringing out across the room. He paused. "Although, your logic is somewhat flawed. As her betrothed, could you pleased be kind enough to help Lady Sansa back up off the floor?"

"I'm fine," Sansa said quietly, running her fingers through her hair and smoothing her gown before rising to her feet. Lord Tyrion was looking up at the both of them with an obviously skeptical expression. Sansa felt her face growing hot and she averted her gaze.

"Why are  _you_ here?" Joffrey demanded.

"I heard your very explosive voice from the opposite side of King's Landing. It is quite impressive. You really are quite talented in the area of shouting! No doubt a trait you picked up from my beloved sister, she used to positively make my ears ring, it was splendid-"

"Did my brother tattle? Did he go get you?" snarled Joffrey.

Lord Tyrion gave a small sigh. "If I say yes, are you going to feed him to a hungry bear?"

Joffrey let out an angry howl, sounding much like a wild animal himself. "EVERYONE ALWAYS TATTLES ON ME! I DID NOTHING WRONG! HE WAS A LIAR! WHY DOES EVERYONE WISH TO RUIN MY LIFE?" he roared.

"One of the world's great mysteries, I suppose," Tyrion said good-naturedly. "I suppose you have kingly duties to attend to, and I must escort Sansa back to her chambers. Come, Sansa," he said, gesturing.

"Don't try to speak to me until I call for you! Don't even  _look_ at me!" King Joffrey called out as she hurried off after the little lord. "Remember what I told you!"

_I'll never forget. How could I? I'm yours, you ruined me, and I'm dead if you get bored. Which will likely be soon, as I've made you furious today._ Sansa set her jaw and tried to refrain from reacting, deciding she was much too lucky. First, the Hound had attempted to rescue her and now Tyrion had saved her from another beating at the king's hands. The Gods had answered her prayers for now, but at what price? She was going to use up all her chances and then she'd be left with absolutely nothing.

"Whatever it is he told you, do not pay attention to it. I can tell you, without any further knowledge, that it was nothing of value. I said it once and I will say it again. You do  _not_ need to succumb to his wrath. Call for help next time. I will always take the heat for you. I am not the favorite uncle, but I do discipline that boy more than anyone else around this place," Tyrion said firmly, stopping Sansa in the hallway and touching his hand to her arm.

She cringed at his touch, not wanting it, not wanting anyone's hands on her. "I'm sorry, my lord-"

"Oh, in the seven hell's!" Tyrion barked, sounding exasperated as he smacked his own forehead. "I'm not asking for an apology! It isn't your fault. You're a child and you don't deserve this mistreatment-"

"King Joffrey is my beloved and-"

Tyrion sighed, and held up his hand. "You are smart, Lady Sansa. But my heart does rather ache for you. That is all I shall say." He gave her a bow and let her depart to her corridor.

Sansa ran the entire way to her chambers. When she'd shut her door and secured it, she flopped onto her bed, kicking off her shoes, feeling disgusting shame shoot through her body. She tried to close her eyes but the swirls could not distract her. She tried to lose herself by staring at the canopy above her, focusing on the crimson flowered pattern, but that also did not work. Nothing she could think of could make her forget the physical response King Joffrey had given her; it was a feeling she'd experienced a bit before, a few times on her own and once or twice in the company of others. This had been stronger than ever.  _Why?_ she thought, trying to rationalize.  _Am I sick? I need to pray, I need someone to take me to the Godswood to pray, right now, but I cannot leave, I don't wish to leave my room again, but I need to get away from here, I need to get back to Winterfell, or Shae, Shae might know how to help me..._

But all of the rationality in the world couldn't take her mind off of the slight throbbing coming from the gap between her legs, from  _that_ place. Sansa could not hold back and instead of thinking screaming, pleading thoughts, she lost all resistance and very slowly began to rub her legs together. She wanted to reason with herself, to scream at herself to stop, but it was as if sparks were going off down inside her core. It felt too good. Her rubbing began to get frantic; there was a warm, slick feeling between her legs and when she tentatively worked her hand under her gown and pressed a finger inside herself, she was astonished to find that she was very wet there. Unsure of what this meant, Sansa put it out of her mind and slowly began to touch herself.

_You like that,_ said Joffrey's voice inside her head, ringing in her ears. She thought about his hot breath in her ear and his hand snaking around her waist, fingers stroking and then pinching.  _Say you like it._

Sansa let out a strangled scream before pulling her hand out of her skirts and dissolving into tears. She did not eat supper. She did not speak. She only prayed for forgiveness, and hoped she still had a few more chances left.

...

"Lady Sansa, it is time to rise! Lady Sansa! I've brought breakfast, and the queen requests you are dressed for formality! Lady Sansa!"

Blearily, Sansa tried to drown out Shae's voice by grabbing a pillow and putting it over her head. She'd slept poorly, all night waking up and remembering the disgusting thoughts she'd had yesterday. The way she'd touched herself and thought of him. Even now, her face burned.

"I don't want to!" she snapped, fully aware of how petulant and idiotic she sounded.

"Lady Sansa, you must! Princess Myrcella is leaving today! She's being shipped to Dorne and you must go with the royal family to the docks! These are orders! Now hurry! We must make you look presentable. You cannot see the princess off with a pillow over your head-"

"Why is the princess leaving? Why must I go? Do I really have to?" Sansa asked, finally throwing the pillow down and averting her eyes from Shae, convinced her handmaiden would see the dirty thoughts she'd had in her eyes.

Shae gave a quiet laugh and began to take out dresses. "So many questions," she said, "all I've been told is there are orders for you to be there. I assume it is because you will be part of the family soon? Anyway, they are all leaving to the docks in an hour's time! You must rise-" Shae grabbed the blankets and tugged.

"But King Joffrey told me yesterday he doesn't want to look at me," Sansa protested, pulling the blankets back. "I'm afraid, Shae- I don't want to disrespect him."  _Or see him ever! I can't look upon his face without thinking of what I've done!_

"You must go," Shae urged in a firm tone. "You have orders to be there. You are fond of the little princess. Go see her off, Sansa. She will be happy to see you."

With a sigh, Sansa agreed that she would like to see Myrcella off, but she had a sense of dread as she got ready for the day.

Sansa walked to the docks behind the queen, Joffrey and the prince and princess, surrounded by the Kingsguard. The Hound glowered at her and she kept her eyes forward, breathing deeply and hoping with all of her heart that she could avoid Joffrey. Princess Myrcella was crying quietly and Sansa gave her a tight hug and wished her well as soon as they reached the water. She positioned herself between the Hound and Ser Boros, trying to stare ahead, not wanting to look at the king, terrified she'd get that feeling between her legs again. She hated him even more now, if that was possible. As soon as she found herself completely focused on Myrcella's departure, Joffrey's cold, sneering tone broke the silence:

"Sansa. Come here," he commanded, and with great reluctance, she did just as she was told. She stood close enough to Joffrey to hear him, but stared straight ahead at the water. "Just so you know, I had absolutely nothing to do with having you here this morning. I told Mother I wanted you to stay behind, but she was convinced you should be here. I'm still angry with you," he finished curtly.

"Yes, your grace," Sansa said in a hushed tone, bowing her head. She wasn't certain what to say or what to feel but it seemed Joffrey was pleased with standing in silence today. _Thank goodness._ She wondered if he even cared that his only sister was being sent off, but when he made a disparaging remark about Prince Tommen crying she figured she should have known he wouldn't have any sort of feeling about it. She didn't even regret saying aloud that she'd seen  _him_ cry once, although she lied very quickly when Joffrey asked what she'd said. The air was thick and tense, and when it was finally time to return to the castle Sansa was relieved. As Sansa joined the group of ladies from the court and walked behind King Joffrey, a crowd of peasants began to shout at them. At first, it seemed cordial enough but then the mood grew sour. The voices grew from a dull roar to a crescendo, and suddenly Sansa felt very, very terrified. . .

 

 


	11. Hint of Blood

* * *

 

JOFFREY

* * *

 

"Seven blessings on you, your grace!"

Joffrey hurried through the dirty street, following the Hound as closely as he could. The city had a rotting, awful stench, no doubt due to the unwashed masses of peasants who had gathered near the docks hoping for a glimpse of the royal family. _They're paying their respects to me,_ he thought, plastering on a benign expression as he surveyed the crowd, ignoring his inborn reaction to cringe.  _Obviously, seeing the king brings hope to the people. They want to bask in my glory, if only for a bit_.  _I don't much like parading about the streets so they'd better get a look at me while they can. Seeing their pathetic faces sets me into a bad mood. It is far too depressing out here, and it smells worse than anything!_ He looked down just in time to avoid a muddy puddle of water, and glanced back at Mother and Tommen. Thankfully, Mother no longer looked miserable and instead looked beautiful and stoic, as usual. Tommen and Mother had been whimpering since the first light of day. Joffrey expected that sort of pathetic behavior from his little brother but seeing Mother with tears on her face was a bit jolting. She'd told him, long and often, how ridiculous it was to display emotion.

He still did not understand why Cersei was suddenly so invested in Myrcella. It made no sense! Myrcella was only doing what women were supposed to do. Joffrey had felt nothing but boredom as he'd watched his younger sister being helped into the little boat and he'd smirked at the tears that were streaked across her pale cheeks as she'd been floated out into the dark water. Joffrey had run out of uses for her long ago and so he did not care about Myrcella's fate. On the contrary he felt worse for her husband-to-be. Her blossoming body left much to be desired and Joffrey was unsure she'd ever develop into something truly noteworthy.  _Not like Sansa,_ he found himself thinking,  _not like the softness of her curves and her deep eyes mixed with her red, red hair._

Despite his rage at Sansa's recent behavior, Joffrey could not stop imagining them alone again. They'd been so close on their excursion to Kill Hill but she'd ruined it, and he still felt fury at her for her actions against him yesterday afternoon. He wanted Sansa to leave him be, but he found his thoughts trailing back to her. Often. He had not been able to restrain himself yesterday and as he'd touched her hips and kissed her ear, he'd felt his heart pounding in his chest, his groin hardening and pulling up like a loaded arrow ready to be launched at a target. He'd done well to ignore her thus far today, but now he looked back at her before he could restrain himself. Sansa's hair was set up in a Southern style and her dress accentuated her breasts and waist. Joffrey quickly looked away before she could catch him gaping at her.  _Stop looking at her. Think of something else. Perhaps I can organize a hunting trip—that might brighten my spirits. It would do me good to get out of King's Landing, to have relief from my stress. It's no surprise I cannot stop thinking of the stupid Stark girl. There's nothing better to do around here. Apparently it's improper to go out and have a bit of fun when there's a war on, at least that's what Uncle Tyrion said. But I don't care what he thinks! Honestly, the only good he's done for me is get rid of Myrcella!_

"Long live King Joffrey!" shouted a voice from above.

"We're hungry!" cried out another.

Joffrey set his jaw, willing himself not to scowl at the noisemakers. If they were as hungry as they said, why not find employment or take up hunting? Why not become decent human beings instead of impoverished, flea-bitten nitwits? The voices began to rise in volume like a menacing choir.

"He's a bastard!"

Jade gaze flicking upward, Joffrey felt rage surge through him, white and hot.  _Are they talking about me? I'll have them all hanged until their eyes pop out of their skulls if they are! Mother would tell me if the rumors are true. People only say such things to cause trouble!_ Joffrey broke out of his wandering thoughts when the Hound paused in front of him, hand on his belt.

"Get the prince back to the keep!" cried out Uncle Tyrion, and Joffrey strained to see what was going on, why his uncle had cause for alarm. These were only beggars, only sad, crusty people with nothing better to do then—

All of a sudden, something was thrown out from the crowd and smacked Joffrey in the face. The impact was a surprise but the smell hit him hard and fast. A dreadful, thick mass of excrement had got him directly in the forehead and was dropping like old, rotted pudding off his temple. His face stung with humiliation while laughter and shrieks rang out at once. At once, Joffrey felt his gag reflex set in and he let out a guttural yowl as the Hound drew his sword: "Who threw that? I demand to know who threw that!"Joffrey screamed, "Find the man who threw that AND BRING HIM TO ME!" His eyes flashed at the crowd; he hated all of them, he wanted them all dead.  _How dare they! How DARE they! Did Sansa see? Who witnessed it?_ He wanted the dung off but he wouldn't dare touch it. He equally couldn't stand feeling it falling in meaty globs down his face, making its way toward his eye. The disgusting, ripe smell curled into his nostrils as bile rose throughout his throat.

Joffrey threw a glance backward where Sansa was sidestepping to avoid a group of men, jostling and clawing at each other, at anyone they could get their filthy hands on.  _She saw! She had to have seen! I'll have her flogged raw if she mentions it!_ He continued to squall as the Hound gripped him by the shoulder and swung him effortlessly under one arm, fighting through the crowd. "KILL THEM! KILL THEM ALL!" Joffrey heard himself wailing, not really even aware of his mouth forming the words. Faces swirled and voices rang out, all mixing together. It was a blur after that as they tried to get back to the castle, the Hound's sword clinging and squishing into anyone who dared step in their way.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING? I WANT THESE PEOPLE EXECUTED!" Joffrey declared loudly as the Hound gripped him to his side.

"And they want the same for you!" The Hound barked at Joffrey fiercely. Joffrey wanted to spit at the Dog for taking such a tone with him.  _He shouldn't address me as such,_ he thought wildly as the crowd screamed,  _I'm your grace or your highness!_

What little gaps were left in the pathway seemed to close around them. The high septon, who had been leading the group of them, was snatched into the raging mob. Joffrey heard a sickening sound and shouting. He looked blearily to the right just in time to see the septon's arm being torn off and flapped in the air like a victory flag at battle. It would have been a magnificent sight if it weren't for the fact that Joffrey was right in the middle of the chaos.  _Don't let them get me!_ he thought, panicked, clutching hard to his Dog.  _Don't you dare let them get to me or I'll have you skinned and mounted on my wall!_

Soon, Joffrey was safely back to the keep but all was far from well. He was red-faced and humiliated, still painfully aware of the dung streaking his face. He'd yelled that he wanted all of the peasants to be killed and Tyrion had defied him, told him the problem was his fault. To top it off, Tyrion had slapped him and Joffrey wanted nothing more than to wring the imp's neck, to see the color drain from his evil, little face.

"Where is the Stark girl?" called out Uncle Tyrion, and Joffrey whipped around.

"Let them have her!" he snarled feverishly, shaking his finger at his uncle. Sansa would  _laugh_ at him! He  _knew_ it! She'd seen him fall before her sister; she'd witnessed him being bested. She'd seen him ridiculed by his father. She'd heard from Mother that he'd had a fit, and though he did not know exactly what Sansa had heard, he still hated that she'd heard he had flaws. And now, she'd likely seen him get shit tossed in his face like a total fool. She wasn't going to take him seriously now. Ever. He decided an angry crowd might as well kill her if it meant she'd never get the chance to shame him for what she had seen.  _Let them do what they want to her! She's nothing to me! Just like Mother said, love is a poison and Sansa Stark can be ripped to pieces and thrown in the river for all I care. She better not have seen! If she doesn't die, I'll punish her myself! She'll hope she's dead!_ Tears stung in his eyes. The only positive thing was that the smell of the defecation on his face was so strong that by now, he almost did not notice it.

"Someone must find Lady Sansa!" the imp declared, looking at Ser Boros in disdain.

"I take my orders from the king!" Ser Meryn said gruffly, and Joffrey was satisfied that at least someone had the decency to respect him. Tyrion looked back to Joffrey with an expectant look on his face and Joffrey grimaced deeply before stomping out of the room.

"Doesn't anyone see?" he demanded, pumping his fist in the air and glaring at the frightened faces of his courtiers and guards. "I must be attended to!"

Uncle Tyrion followed him, yelling after him. "Your betrothed is lost in a raving group of angry people and you're crying about a tiny bit of cow shit on your face? You should be out there looking for her  _yourself_!"

"I'M THE KING! AND I HATE SANSA STARK! LET THEM RIP HER TO SHREDS!" Joffrey bawled. The more he said he did not care for her, the more he liked the taste of the words on his tongue and the horrified look on Uncle Imp's face.

"She is to  _marry_ you! Is this how you treat your future wife?"

"I CAN'T BE OUT THERE ALONE! I'M THE KING! I'M THE KING!"

"Are you the king?" Tyrion questioned sarcastically. "Really? I hadn't heard!"

"Are you  _questioning_ me?" Joffrey demanded, clenching his teeth. "I SHOULD HAVE YOUR THROAT RIPPED OUT—"

Mother ran in, shoving maids aside, her dress cascading out behind her. "You're safe, my love!" she cooed, rushing to Joffrey's side. "I'm relieved, I was so worried—I was—" She stepped back and wrinkled her nose. "What's that smell?"

"It was  _horrible,_ Mother!"

"Joffrey, what  _happened?_ What have they done to you?"

"Your son is overreacting, as usual. One of the mobbing peasants threw a cow pie at him and it's almost like he's been disfigured," said Tyrion, rolling his eyes. "In my opinion, this look suits his personality quite well—"

Joffrey let out an enraged scream.  _"Mother!_ Do something! _"_

"Why has no one helped him get it off?" Cersei snarled, glaring about the room. "You'll all sit here and let my poor boy suffer? What if he catches some disease? Draw him a bath at once! WHO WILL DRAW HIM A BATH?"

"Not I," scoffed Tyrion.

There was a silence and Mother grasped Joffrey by his arm, flaxen eyebrows flexing dangerously over her emerald eyes. "DRAW THE KING A BATH!" No less than three handmaidens ran from the room, heads bowed. "Let us get you clean. I'm so sorry you've had such a terrible day," Mother said smoothly. "It's over now. It can only get better."

Joffrey looked to her and gave a slight smile, and for the moment he believed her encouraging words.

. . .

He finally felt calm after lowering himself into the hot bathwater and stretching back to let the wash of warmth cover his body. One of the handmaidens had procured a wet towel for him and was in the process of wiping the feces from Joffrey's face and hair when Mother had knocked, demanding to be the one to attend to her son. It seemed ages since they'd spent much time together and Joffrey was happy for Mother's company, as she was being supportive and not a piteous wench (for the moment, at least). She'd lovingly mopped his face and had prepared a basin of water for him to duck his head into, rubbing his back and neck all the while. She'd suggested he still take a bath to further soap off his face and body, but also to relax. So far, it was working well to soothe his mood but there was still much on his mind.

"They sounded like they hated me, Mother," Joffrey said after much thought, his voice slow and cautious. It was not a question because he really did not wish to know the answer.

Mother looked up from the floor where she'd been averting her gaze. She was sitting with her legs crossed on a chair by the side of his bath, sliding a hand up and down the silky length of her gown almost nervously. Joffrey studied her: the way her golden hair glinted in the soft candlelight, her delicate hands pressed in her lap and then raising up to brush curls from her face. She sighed, cutting the silence. "No one hates you, sweet boy," she said finally.

"Uncle Tyrion says it's because I started the war! But I didn't start a war, I ended a traitor's life and it isn't my fault the Starks can't handle themselves—"

"Didn't we agree we'd no longer discuss this subject?" asked Mother in a soft tone. He threw her a sideways glance as he began to sop up his cloth with soap and scrub his ears. Her facial expression was slightly vacant, but there was a gentle smile on her face. "Tyrion has set out to make others feel guilty since he was a boy. He has always tried to point out my wrongs. I suppose it's because he feels inadequate. He thinks he must bring others down to feel tall."

"I suppose," Joffrey said off-handedly. "But those people, Mother. They really sounded angry with us. They don't know us! I thought that being king meant everyone would love me."

Cersei turned again to look at him, casting him a somewhat sad smile. "You do not need everyone's love, Joffrey. I want you to know that with all of your soul. You know how much I care for you, and that should be enough. Should it not?"

Joffrey shrugged, rinsing his ears and face and bringing up one slender leg for washing. He flexed his toes and swirled the soap over his foot, trying not to think of Sansa. "I know you care for me. But I'm their king, Mother. It's their  _duty_  to love me."

"If they do not love you, they do not see what I see," said Mother, adjusting the golden pendant that rested in the center of her cleavage. She noticed Joffrey watching her and smiled at him again. "Be certain to wash thoroughly. I cannot believe they'd do something as hideous as that to my poor boy—"

"Tyrion says it was only a cow pie, that I shouldn't have reacted so—"

"They could have seriously harmed you," Mother put in quickly. "You had every right to react the way you did. You did nothing wrong. You are a strong, brave king and you did not deserve that. Not one bit."

He nodded, deciding she was right. They were silent for a few more minutes. The only sound was the sloshing of the water. It lazily slapped against the tub as he changed position.

"Do you know if they found Sansa?" Joffrey asked without really thinking. He bent down, pretending to be invested in washing himself there. "Not that I care one way or another—"

Mother turned her head. "Yes, Tyrion mentioned you were in quite a frenzy about the business with the Stark girl—"

"Not a  _frenzy,_ Mother! I simply told my uncle that the crowd could have her if they wanted her!"

"As I hear it," Mother said lightly, "the crowd very well  _did_ almost have her. Would that really have pleased you, sweet boy?"

Joffrey swiveled around, completely focused on her now. "What do you mean? Did they maim her?"  _If they did anything to her beautiful face, I won't be able to look at her. And then what will I do? I can't marry an ugly woman. Maybe if she's hideous, I'll tell Mother she's also not a maiden and then Mother can fix the situation for me—_

"She was bleeding but it wasn't anything serious—"

"Bleeding where? Was she cut? Stabbed?" Joffrey asked, his voice rising with a hint of excitement as his stomach dropped.

Mother gave him a confused look. "She's doing fine, Joffrey. She's likely just scared. A little dove from the North with no idea how life really is—"

"I want my clothes brought to me, and I want Sansa to see me in my chambers," Joffrey said, sitting up and rinsing off. "Quickly. Bring my towel, Mother."

"Don't you think she should rest, Joffrey? We have all been through so much today—"

"I want to see Sansa in an hour's time," said Joffrey flatly. "I want to see what happened to her. Clothes and towel. Now. Fetch a servant or do it yourself. I don't care."

Mother stood up and her face twitched, a small frown forming on her shapely lips. "I don't see why you need to speak with her. I was enjoying our time alone—"

"Because she's mine, Mother, and I need to see if she's been damaged!" Joffrey snapped. The truth was, he wasn't quite sure what was driving him to see Sansa either. But like many of Joffrey's desires, he knew it would not be sated unless it was quenched.

. . .

A sharp knock sounded at Joffrey's bedroom door. "Lady Stark for you, your grace!" came the Hound's growl of a voice. Joffrey peeled his eyes away from his full-length mirror where he'd been admiring himself in his new black velvet tunic. His heart began to pound and he wished it would return to normal.  _I'm not inviting Sansa in because I care for her,_ he told himself,  _I want to hear what transpired today and whether she looks hideous. Better now than later, and besides, I can let her know if she repeats what she saw happen to me I'll track down her brother and cut off his head myself!_

"Come in," Joffrey said, posing against the vanity as the Hound thrust open the door for Sansa. Joffrey noticed her first, his mouth going dry. She was wearing a simple dressing gown with a fur cloak tied around her shoulders. Her hair was down in curls around her face in the manner he liked.  _Her face looks unharmed,_ he thought,  _that is a relief._

"I'll be outside the door," muttered the Hound. He looked to Sansa. "When the king sees it fit, you can come to me and I will escort you back—"

"Why would you linger around my doorway, Dog?" Joffrey asked with a snort. "You never do that."

Clegane and Sansa exchanged a very brief glance. "I thought it would save trouble, your grace," the man said. "Forgive me if I guessed wrong—"

"You can come back to collect her when I call for you, Dog. Like always," Joffrey said icily, and stepped forward, surveying the Hound's ugly, cracked face. Tonight, the Hound did not stare back. He turned away and stared instead at the floor. "Something wrong?" Joffrey challenged.

"Nothing at all, your grace. Just call for me when you are ready," the Hound mumbled, giving a bow of his head.

"I will," Joffrey said shortly. "I don't need your permission to do as I please. Leave now. I can't stand to look upon you any longer. Sansa, you may now approach me." Before he could say another word, the Hound bowed his head again and exited as Sansa stepped forward. Joffrey noticed with some gladness that she looked nervous.  _Good. At least seeing me like that didn't take away her fear._ "Closer," he said in a sweet voice, eyes hungrily examining her for whatever wounds lay beneath her clothing. "Please have a seat on the chaise. Be comfortable."

"Your grace," whispered Sansa, and gave a curtsy. She seemed to be surveying Joffrey's chambers, a look of wonder in her wide eyes. He figured she'd never seen a room quite as grand. She crossed the room and sunk down onto the lounge.

Joffrey followed her and stood directly in front of her, crossing his arms. "My mother says you were harmed today but I don't see any wounds. Show me."

"I was bleeding badly, your grace. By now, it has been cleaned and dried," she murmured, her voice wavering badly. "It was—it was horrible—"

"I don't care how it was!" Joffrey said. "Show me, I said!"

Sansa shuddered and at a snail's pace she began to remove the cloak from her shoulders, Tully hair tumbling in front of her eyes as she looked downward. Irritated, Joffrey strode forward and wrenched the furs from around her, casting them to the floor. She whimpered, cowering.

"Where were you bleeding?" he demanded impatiently.

"Here, on my shoulder—"

Joffrey pulled up her sleeve where she'd gestured and gazed open-mouthed at a blood-stained bandage twisted around Sansa's upper arm. "How big is the cut?" he whispered, leaning into her and running a finger carefully around the length of the cloth.

"They said it was sizable—it hurt terribly. I was lucky to get out alive—"

" _You_ were lucky to get out alive? I was attacked," Joffrey argued, rolling his eyes. "Honestly, don't be so childish. My mother says I could have been really hurt and you don't hear me going on and on."

"Yes, your grace," Sansa said, nodding her head several times. Joffrey dropped down beside her on the chaise and crossed one leg over the other. Sansa looked up and met his eyes as she spoke: "I'm sorry you were treated like that. With all my heart, I'm sorry."

Joffrey stared at her face, trying to interpret her tone. He decided she was being sincere. " _Well_ ," he said flamboyantly, "I could have handled it myself if only I had my sword. How did you get out of there anyway? I could have gone out and found you, but I was attending to other matters—"

"You did not hear?" Sansa asked and Joffrey frowned.

"Why would I ask you if I'd heard already?" he demanded. "What would the point be?"

"That was stupid of me," Sansa replied. "I apologize, your grace. Ser Clegane came for me. I was—I was being accosted by a group of men. I couldn't count them. There were three, or four, I'm not sure. I was so scared, your grace—"

"My dog went out for you?" Joffrey asked. "I didn't ask him to! Why would he do that?"  _Interesting indeed. What is the Hound's problem as of late? It would seem he has some pathetic fondness for Sansa, but that's too ridiculous for my dog. He agrees with me on the subject of women. They aren't worth worrying about._

Sansa wrung her hands in her lap and fixed Joffrey with a wide-eyed look. "I—I don't know? I don't think he knew where I was off to, he was simply fighting through the crowd. It was lucky he found me! I owe him my life—"

"Your life?" Joffrey interrupted, sneering. "Your life? Don't be so dramatic—"

"Your grace, I wouldn't exaggerate," Sansa put in, her tone hurried. "Please believe me. I wouldn't lie!"

"So what happened?" he inquired, turning his body to face her and gazing at her intently. "They cut you a bit? That's nothing compared to what I went through—you have absolutely no idea!"

"They almost took me there in the alleyway, Joff—your grace," Sansa managed to sputter, and tears began to flow from her eyes right then. "They were all filthy and mean and they beat me, one clamored over me and tried—but, but Ser Clegane came and killed all of them. I was so afraid," she said, and burst anew into sobs.

Joffrey watched her, growing slightly annoyed. "I can't understand you when you bawl like that," he said crisply. " _Took you?_ Took you where?"

"Took me," she said in a hushed voice. "They almost…  _raped_ me. One of them asked if I'd ever been—if I ever had…well, sex. And before I knew it, he was pushing me down and pulling my legs apart-"

"Did they do anything to you?" Joffrey asked, his volume intensifying. She continued to cry, hiding her head in her hands. He slid closer to her and pulled her hands away from her face. She was snotty and blotchy but Joffrey was too invested in the conversation to mind much. "Did they touch you?" he questioned. "Tell me!"

"No!" Sansa burst out. "No, they didn't—Ser Clegane saved me just in time. It was horrible—"

"My poor lady," Joffrey said, his voice sliding into a tone of a sort of syrupy tenderness that even slightly surprised him as he heard the words leave his throat. "How dare they do that to you, how dare they! Wait here." He got to his feet and rifled about his dresser, finally snatching up a silk handkerchief. He rushed back to Sansa and sat beside her again. Through her tears, she gave him a strange expression as he began to wipe her tears from her eyes. "You may have this," he said after a few seconds, and passed her the kerchief before snaking an arm around her back.

"Thank you," Sansa said, holding his eye contact and sniffling quietly. "Thank you so much, your grace."

" _Joffrey,"_ he corrected softly. He put his palm to the side of her warm face and slowly brought his lips to hers. He sighed; she tasted of salty tears and he swore he could almost smell the hint of blood on her. Sansa shivered in his grasp as he deepened the kiss, his hand moving up and down the curve of her back. "If they had done such a thing to you," Joffrey said when he pulled back, "I would have tracked them down and pulled their guts out through their mouths. You're  _my_ lady. You belong to me. And I won't have other men touching or looking at what is mine. You can depend on that."

"Th-thank you, Joffrey," Sansa said, her breathing coming out in pants and her pretty cheeks a bit flushed.

"I'm the only one who gets to touch you," Joffrey went on, running his hand across her thigh now as he felt his heart pounding faster still. "Aren't I?"

Sansa nodded and swallowed, "Yes, Joffrey. Yes, you are."

"Good," he nodded, and reached out for her. Sansa gave his outstretched hands a wary look. "Take my hands in yours," he commanded, raising an eyebrow at her hesitation. She quickly did as she was asked. Joffrey smiled and squeezed her fingers, savoring the feeling of her skin against his. "I forgive you for your impertinence yesterday. You must be tired, Sansa. I will escort you to your living quarters tonight. No doubt my dog has had enough excitement for the day. Come. Shall we go?" Beaming, he stood and held out an arm for Sansa to take.

Very slowly, his lady got to her feet, fixing her cloak back around her shoulders. "Yes, Joffrey," she said in a pleasant tone and slipped her delicate arm through his. Joffrey puffed out his chest and his heart sang. Mother was right: His day  _had_ improved. It seemed his troubles were over.

 


	12. Kissing and Killing

* * *

 

_SANSA_

* * *

 

_You can't avoid his eyes. Smile at him. Don't cry. Don't panic. Don't make a sound. Keep smiling! Try not to shake! You must look at him when he speaks to you,_ Sansa urged herself, willing a small grin to claim her lips as she walked arm-in-arm with King Joffrey. This version of Joffrey, this sugary-tongued and chivalrous shadow of the boy she'd been enamored with so long ago, scared her deeply. He was strutting like a proud rooster but Sansa knew by now that Joffrey's demeanor could change at any point, for virtually every reason—or no real reason at all. It would be one thing if she could interpret Joffrey and know how to coax the right responses out of him. The truth was, Sansa had tried desperately to see a pattern. Unfortunately for her, she was realizing that Joffrey was perhaps even madder than she'd previously thought. Sansa's life had become a puzzle, a logic exercise in how to keep a fanatical, blood-thirsty boy satisfied. Just when she thought she had the answer to Joffrey, his eyes would widen and his teeth would clench, and he'd erupt in rage. And other times, he was silent and brooding. Rarer still were the positive moods, like this saccharine sweet display of chivalry. A year ago, Sansa would have done anything to have Joffrey walk with her like this, but now it made her insides twist and turn in terror.

He'd been absolutely hateful to her at the docks today, which she'd expected given his rage at her defense of Prince Tommen yesterday. However, his actions just moments ago had completely baffled her. The tender kisses and gentle way he'd held her hands in his own had made her both nauseous and light-headed. She despised him with everything she had left inside her, yet she could not shake the thoughts of how she'd touched herself the night before. Sansa was filled with what felt like thousands of emotions and guilt, befuddlement and revulsion were bubbling right up to the top. Though his kissing had been anything but rough, the very last thing Sansa wanted today was more unwelcome touching.

She had periodically gone between crying quietly and sitting silently since the riot. She stood staring out the window of her room and wringing her hands in her hair. Shae had tried to speak with her, as had the several handmaidens and nurse who attended to her after the attack. Sansa insisted she was fine but the real truth was that she did not feel like speaking. She did not want to answer any questions. She did not want to discuss what had happened. The women had all had the same question:  _Did they take it? Did they take your maidenhead? They did not ruin you for the king, did they?_ Shae had stood in the corner, looking away while Sansa put on a wide-eyed expression of relief:  _"No, no. Ser Clegane saved me before they could do anything to me like that!"_ Then she'd guiltily told them all to leave. Shae had remained, but Sansa shook her head, her face turning red as her hair.  _"Out,"_ she'd hissed,  _"please get out."_

She'd re-imagined the scene, over and over again, all day. The people seemed so hurt and angry in the streets, crying and calling out for bread. Sansa had wished she'd had food to offer them, and she had felt strange in her expensive silken gown. And Joffrey had seemed, as usual, completely unaffected by the scene as they'd moved through the street. Sansa once imagined him as a benevolent and just king, her perfect husband, and had visions of them walking side by side. They would smile serenely, conversing with the common people and keeping order in Westeros.  _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ Joffrey seemed to care nothing for the ailing townsfolk, just as he did not care much for matters of state or work in general. For all Sansa saw, he paraded about the grounds of the castle with the Hound, or thought up senseless punishments before the court. Sansa had foolishly thought Robert was a subpar king; she'd thought him silly and unsightly. But she'd take that reality back in a heartbeat. For not only was Sansa beginning to see that her future husband was a far worse ruler than his father—the whole of Westeros seemed to be seeing it, too. Things were never going to get better with King Joffrey. She was already deeply embarrassed imagining having to call herself his queen. It was hideous enough sitting by his side and pretending to agree with his brutality. Imagine if everyone knew they'd been intimate. She'd be far more hated than Joffrey could ever be.

She'd almost been glad when he'd gotten a pile of manure launched at his face though her first thought was that the event would turn his mood sour, making him harder to deal with. She hated that he was always in the forefront of her mind. Even as the men had cornered her, she'd thought,  _Joffrey—this is different than you, they truly want me dead, you say you'll kill me but when you look at me I don't see it in your eyes, these men, they want me with something different inside of them._

She'd wondered alone, had the crowd of men who'd cornered her smelt the lust she felt for Joffrey on her? Could they see she'd been spoiled, that she was no longer the Stark family's good, loyal girl? The only man in the group who had spoken to her had pulled at her garments and leered through nasty teeth, asking  _"Have you been fucked, little girl?"_ Sansa wondered if saying "yes" could have deferred them, or if her throat would have been slit straight away instead ( _is that what girls like me deserve?_ ). She'd been completely shocked when Ser Clegane had shown up to defend her. He'd brutally murdered her attackers before hoisting her up over his shoulder and had carried her off to the castle as she sobbed into his sweaty neck. Sansa was glad to be alive, but seeing him disembowel and slaughter the men right in front of her eyes had only added to her shock.  _Arya would definitely make fun of me, she'd say I should be happy those men are dead! But I did not want anyone to die. I just wanted to be left alone. I wish none of it had happened, beginning with how stupid I was back in Winterfell. I should have never told Father and Mother I wanted to marry Joffrey. I demanded them to make me marry him! I'm being punished for my sin. I really am! I thought it would be like the songs, like the knights and ladies in the ballads. But it's not a ballad with Joffrey. It's a death march._ She had only been torn from her thoughts when Ser Clegane had rapped at her door. She'd covered her bare shoulders in furs at once and had hurried to the door.

Sansa's stomach had turned at the sight of him, but not because of his face this time. He'd seen her spread-eagled on the dirty ground clutching at her torn dress and though Sansa knew he simply thought of her as a silly little girl, she was still mortified. Her hand shaking on the doorknob, she'd stared past his head, unsure of what to say.  _Thank him,_ she urged herself but the words would not come.

He had glared down at her as usual. Obviously their interaction during the riot had not had an effect on him whatsoever. "The king has decided he'd like to see you in his chambers, little bird. Orders from her grace, the queen regent. The king is interested in your wounds. He'd like to discuss what happened to you today."

"He wants  _what?"_ Sansa had asked without really thinking. "I mean to say, he knows what occurred?"  _Gods, he'll be angry! He'll be so angry! He'll throttle me for getting lost in the crowd!_

"I said nothing," grunted the Hound in a savage tone. His eyes glittered black like scurrying spiders. "Where's your smile, girl? Your beloved king has remembered you exist! What a blessed day it must be for you."

"It is," Sansa said quickly, though she did not much like the Hound's boorish tone. "I'll be happy to see my King Joffrey. But I am not decent." She gestured down to her nightclothes.

The Hound snorted cruelly and rolled his eyes. "And you think I believe you for a second that it  _matters_ whether you are decent for the king?"

Sansa's face flushed and she narrowed her eyes. "I don't understand what you think you mean, Ser," she said indignantly, but the Hound raised up a large arm, shaking his finger at her.

"I've told you a thousand times, girl.  _I'm not a Ser. I'm not a knight,"_ Clegane growled. "Are you coming or not? We don't want to keep his  _grace_ waiting."

"Yes, yes, I'm sorry," Sansa said quietly, trying to hold back tears. His forcible way of speaking frightened her, but she told herself to be calm. The calmer she was, the better she would be able to handle Joffrey. But she feared that today, she did not have the strength.

And now here she was, leaving the king's chambers with him, arm-in-arm as if they were the pleasant couple she'd once imagined back in Winterfell. He was walking in step with her and actually allowed her to take his arm rather than snatching her hands but this only added to Sansa's nervousness. She wanted to be alone in a hot bath in her chambers, not strolling with King Joffrey away from anyone who could possibly hear her cries of protest.  _Once he gets me back to my room, what then? Is this some sort of plan? Sometimes he seems too mad for a plan, like he does whatever comes to his mind without a second thought. But other times, his ideas seem thought out far, far in advance. Like poor Ser Dontos. I'd never dream of drowning a man in wine. What kind of dreadful thought is that?_

"My lady," Joffrey said, his voice high and smooth. "What are you thinking so deeply about?" He ran a long hand across her back as they walked around the corner into the long hallway that led to the first set of stairs.

Sansa shivered at his touch, disliking the closeness. She got a clear flashing image in her mind of the mob from the riot ( _"have you ever been fucked little girl?"_ ). "I'm still thinking about earlier," she said in a whisper, hoping this answer would not set Joffrey into ridiculing her for being a baby.

"Those men really scared you, didn't they?" asked Joffrey in an intrigued tone. Sansa wanted to jostle his arm; she hated his voice, that strange curiosity that made him sound hungry rather than concerned. But she ignored her gut response, set her jaw, and nodded in a solemn fashion. "Well," Joffrey went on, raising his voice, "That will not happen again if I have anything to do with it. You're safe with me. You know that."

_Winterfell,_ a small voice in Sansa's head hissed,  _that's what you said in Winterfell and you are a liar, liar, liar, safe with you? You make me scream, and you laugh. You bite me until I hurt. Shove your hands in me, take me, spoil me. You ran from the riot. You cried when my little sister threatened you. You mock your mother but hide behind her when you want something. You're repulsive and I wish I could stop thinking about you! You vile, evil—_

"What are you doing?" Joffrey suddenly snapped, and Sansa broke out of her thoughts.  _Was I speaking aloud? I wasn't, was I?_

"I'm not doing anything, Joffrey," Sansa said quickly and whimpered as he wrenched his arm from hers.

"I wasn't speaking to you," he said quickly. Then, he shouted down the hallway: "Dog, why are you at the stairs?"

Sansa looked up and, sure enough, Ser Clegane was standing near the main stairwell, leaning one arm on the banister. But at Joffrey's yell, Clegane straightened up and turned to face them. "Simply doing as I have been told, your grace," he replied. "Waiting for your orders."

Sansa noticed a difference in his tone. It had nothing of its usual bite. Joffrey grabbed her hand and continued briskly toward where Clegane was positioned, dragging Sansa along like a ragdoll.

"Is Lady Stark ready to be delivered back to her chambers?" Clegane inquired, reclaiming some of his normal gruffness but Sansa did not take comfort in his lowered head, or his averted eyes. Before she could wonder if something was wrong, Joffrey continued talking:

"I didn't ask for you to be a hallway guard dog, though, did I? I told you I should call for you when I needed you and as it stands, I do not need you. My lady has asked for  _me_ to deliver her back to her chambers and your assistance is not needed, Hound." Luckily, Joffrey's voice was somewhat amicable if not fueled with arrogance. "Didn't you, sweet lady?" He turned to cast Sansa a smile, and squeezed her hand harder still.

"Yes, your grace," she nodded, though it wasn't the truth, not at all. "Yes, I did."

"See, Dog? We just don't need you," said Joffrey, and though his voice kept that even tone, his sneer was not lost on Sansa.

Clegane looked to and fro as though he had a mind to say something else, but instead he gave a deep bow of his head. Sansa winced as his knotted hair fell aside a bit, revealing his grotesque burns in full. She wished he'd wear his helmet much more often than he did. It still gave him a foreboding look but it was somewhat more palatable. He straightened up and made to walk away.

"Wait," Joffrey called. Ser Clegane stopped in his tracks as Joffrey went on. "You didn't tell me about how gallant you were today, Dog. But my lady has told me everything. You saved her when I could not. For this, I am indebted to you. You are very brave, rescuing a poor, helpless girl and I am very pleased with your service." On the contrary, he sounded like he might suddenly burst into laughter. Sansa suddenly felt even more ill as Joffrey stroked her fingers.  _What is he doing? What's in his head?_

Clegane kept his eyes averted and made a slight grunting sound. "Brave? I saved a sparrow from rats. You owe me nothing, your grace. It was nothing—"

"Ah," Joffrey said, and he beamed, "So you think my lady is nothing?"

"Not one bit, your grace. She is your betrothed, which is why I went after her. The girl is not nothing, but she is nothing to  _this_ Dog—"

Sansa looked away, unsure of where this conversation was going. She wasn't surprised she was nothing to Ser Clegane, but it wasn't a pleasant thing to hear anyway.

"So she's  _not…_ nothing?" Joffrey asked, drawing out his words and blinking his eyelashes angelically. "I suppose I don't understand. You either saved someone important. Or… you didn't. So which is it, Dog?"

Clegane gave a wheezing laugh. "Of course she is important, my king. She is your beloved and I work only for you. I take my orders from you and for you. Why would I not save her? Why would I expect any sort of acknowledgment?"

"Because," Joffrey said, and there was a very slight change in his voice. "Because, Dog, I didn't  _order_ you to save her and you take your orders from the king. Do you not? I mean… You just said you take your orders from me and so I am confused—"

"If it was not what your grace wanted, I do humbly apologize," Clegane said quickly and with another bow of his great head. "I figured you wouldn't want her ravished and stained out there in the streets. It's no place for the king's lady, after all."

"No apologies are necessary," grinned Joffrey, all dimples. "You're lucky for this, Dog. It pleases me you saved my lady as she is my one true love." Sansa held back a shudder at the way he said it,  _one true love,_ all drawn out and snide like that joke it truly was. "I say again, I am indebted to you. Whatever you wish, you can have."

Clegane shook his head hard. "Nothing, your grace. It's my duty. I ask for nothing."

"So, you  _wouldn't_ like a kiss from my lady?"

Sansa's head snapped up at once and she stared at Joffrey in disbelief. "A kiss?" she wavered, her face growing hot.  _Please, Joffrey, no—no, he scares me. Don't._

"Yes, I think it's only fair to offer my hound a kiss from you, Lady Sansa," said Joffrey, and he was talking excitedly now, his words falling from his mouth as quickly as he could deliver them. "After all, men can take what they want from girls. I think you knew that already, but you surely did discover that today." He laughed, but there was only coldness in the sound.

"I don't want a kiss from your lady, my king," Clegane declared strongly, and Sansa felt her body relax in relief. "You owe me nothing. And she is only yours."

"You are right! She's mine and so I do with her as I so choose," Joffrey said in a crisp way, and he dropped Sansa's hand and nudged her forward. "Take a kiss from her, if it pleases you. Kiss her anywhere you like. I won't mind."

Sansa threw Joffrey a wild-eyed glance, her heart racing.  _Not this! Not after everything—oh please!_ But Joffrey simply crossed his arms and fixed her with a smile.

"But it wouldn't please me, your grace," the Hound said steadily and finally, he looked at the king with piercing eyes. "It wouldn't be at all what I wanted and I feel I should leave you to deliver your lady safely to her chambers. I should not like to kiss her. Not at all. If you would like to give me something, allow me to act out your next execution. Killing pleases me. Kissing does not."

"Very well," Joffrey said, sounding a bit affronted in Sansa's opinion. "You shall have as you wish, Dog. Come, Sansa." He held out his hand to her as she removed herself from her thoughts, feeling in a slight haze. "I said,  _come!"_ he cried sharply, and she flew to his side, taking his hand in hers. As they headed toward the staircase, Sansa gave a last look at Clegane, who was shaking his head at her and scowling.

. . .

"You didn't want to kiss my Hound," Joffrey said as they approached the second set of stairs, his hand holding hers in a solid grip.

At once, Sansa shook her head, glad she did not have to lie. "Of course I didn't!" she burst out. "He still frightens me, even now—"

"Even after saving you so bravely?" Joffrey asked, loosening his fingers a bit.

"No one is braver than you," Sansa said, nearly choking on the falseness of the words. But Joffrey seemed to accept this answer, wearing a small smile.

He led her down the winding hallway, and they climbed yet another set of stairs. "Odd, wasn't it? He was clearly waiting for you to leave my chambers," he finally said.

"It was likely just a coincidence," Sansa said, though she remembered that Clegane had attempted to help her once before from Joffrey's wrath, not to mention he had covered her breasts after Joffrey had ordered her stripped before the court. But the man still appeared to hate her and she doubted very much he'd risk his life for a girl that was "nothing" to him. What did he care whether Joffrey abused her, anyway?

"A what?" Joffrey asked, furrowing his brow.

"Er—a coincidence, he probably was just there as we were leaving, for no real reason," Sansa said quickly.

"Oh," Joffrey sniffed, "Yes, of course. Yes, you might well be right. My dog doesn't care much for people. Unless he's hurting them," he giggled boyishly. "It's why we get on so well."

_You don't get on well at all,_ Sansa wanted to say.  _You tell him what to do and call him names, and he thinks you're ridiculous—that I can tell. He's a real killer and you want to be like him. You wish you were fearless and brave._

But even after all these rational thoughts, when they reached the corridor to Sansa's room and Joffrey leaned in and kissed her with soft, lying lips, she felt her knees go faint. Again, Joffrey's familiar musky, clean scent filled her nostrils as he pulled at her lips gently with his own, curled his fingers through her hair and tugged lightly. Sansa felt her breathing change and her heartbeat quicken. She tried to lose herself in thought, tried to lose control and block Joffrey out, fearful that if she didn't, she'd be too disgusted in herself later to carry on.

Sansa was not certain how long they kissed for. Her mind was a blank screen and her thoughts were happily vapid. When he finally let her go, she mustered a smile. "Goodnight, my king," she said, and she felt her voice displayed the picture of tender love. Without really planning to do so, she ducked in again to Joffrey and kissed the side of his smooth face. She heard his breath catch in his throat, felt him tense up against her, and this gave Sansa great confidence. He'd been affected by  _her_ touch, not through watching her in pain or causing her harm. He'd  _liked_ her kiss.  _If I can make him happy, he will not hurt me so. Perhaps he will leave me be. This is so much better than accusing me of aiding Robb in traitorous acts, better than squalling or being slapped by knights. I can do this. Shae was right. I can keep the king satisfied, and I will survive this._ She broke off the kiss and gave a curtsy, proud. From the way her stomach was churning somewhat pleasantly, it was as though she'd almost fooled herself.

Joffrey watched her as she put her hand to the door, a half-dazed look upon his face that made him look like a naive boy. "You can't," he said at last, his voice strangely choked up. "I want more of you." And with that, the boy-king continued to stare at Sansa in that fond, innocent manner, which contrasted deeply with the way he grabbed her roughly by the hair, shoved her into her chambers and slammed the door behind them.

 


	13. Red and Thick

* * *

JOFFREY

* * *

 

 

His groin hardening from the feel of Sansa's lips against his, Joffrey dragged her by the hair and shoved her hard onto her four-poster bed. He was flushed from excitement; he felt in complete control and mature, heroic. She'd sung his praises, and from her reactions he'd garnered that perhaps she had not even remembered seeing him get abused by the crowd. Likely, she'd been too distracted by her near-rape and for that Joffrey was beyond pleased. Though he did not like this bizarre development with the Hound, he wanted to push it to the back of his mind for now. Joffrey was usually quite talented at burying what he wanted to un-see or forget. He buried thoughts in his brain as he did animals in the dirt, and for now he wanted his focus to only be on Sansa Stark. The first time they'd lain together, he'd been so obsessed with doing it right, with having the courage to overpower her and get it in and come inside her, that he really hadn't been able to thoroughly enjoy her the way he would have liked. He was ready for that to change though he'd been having some difficulty keeping the bad thoughts out this week. He was not certain what had triggered them, but he'd had to do extra burying, pressing the thoughts deep, deep down.

" _Sansa,"_ he breathed as he held her down by her neck and climbed over her, inspecting her face. She said nothing but did not look as frightened as usual, staring up at him with her deep blue eyes. They were nearly nose-to-nose; he was so close to her face he could smell her slightly floral scent, and he still wondered if that slight tang that reminded him of blood was the wound on her shoulder. His erection jutting out against Sansa's middle, Joffrey took her face in his and kissed her while stroking her hair. "Kiss my face again," he commanded in a low tone, his hands encasing her cheeks. Sansa abided, planting her soft lips on his jaw line, his face, his earlobe. Joffrey felt his breathing hitch in his throat as her wet mouth made contact with his skin. When she let her kisses travel down his neck, tickling him, he gave a slight whining moan.  _It feels good, surprisingly,_ he thought,  _it's not bad, it's really not too terrible at all. If she keeps doing this, perhaps it will be enough._ After all, Sansa had been very good this evening, a terrific turn of events. She'd obviously been uninterested in the Hound,  _disgusted, really,_ and she had complimented Joffrey's bravery. She'd been so affectionate and sweet toward him, the way it should have always been if all had gone as planned, before the Starks had ruined Joffrey's betrothal with their treachery.

_She seems as though she speaks in earnest. I was ready to give up on her again. I was ready to beat her raw for how she addressed me yesterday. She had no business interrupting my business with Tommen—I cannot believe that little rat told Mother I dared Myrcella to put her hand in the fireplace. I had to do one last funny thing with her before she left to Dorne! It was fortunate Mother took my side..._ Joffrey grunted as Sansa continued to kiss him, her mouth back on his ear again.  _I want Sansa to be good. Like this, forever. It's so much easier this way._ "What were you thinking when I told my Hound he could kiss you?" he said suddenly, and rolled off Sansa to lie by her side.

"What do you mean?" Sansa whispered, eyes latched onto Joffrey's gaze. Her baffled expression displeased him. He'd liked their kiss outside her door, so why was she suddenly acting different? What had changed?

Joffrey ran a finger down Sansa's chest, slowly dragging against her stomach. The silkiness of her nightgown against his hand made his hardness twitch slightly; it reminded him of being a little boy and nestling himself in his mother's lap, rubbing his hands on her soft gowns. The sensation was pleasant and clean, though it did give Joffrey a peculiar feeling to reminiscence like that. He didn't often like to let his mind dwell on infancy, and he'd already decided he needed to focus on Sansa.  _Stay here,_ he urged himself, trying desperately to pull back,  _she's right here, right here with you. You are in bed with her._ Joffrey pinched her stomach slightly through the silk, and Sansa let out a slightly squeak of protest, but then she hummed out a tone that set his heart to pounding. "When I told my dog to kiss you," Joffrey said, "what were you thinking? You must have been thinking something."

"I told you, your grace," Sansa said, and though her eyes seemed a bit blank, there was a slight smile on her face. "I shouldn't have liked to kiss him. I don't like the idea one bit. Would it have pleased you, your grace?"

Joffrey tried to control his breathing, tried to calm himself at her words. He spoke in a quiet, ragged tone, dragging out each word as he slowly slipped his palm up inside Sansa's nightclothes, rubbing his hand over her warm thigh. "It might have amused me for a moment," he said, "because you are mine to give, and it may have been quite funny to see the Dog slobber all over my lady. And I would have stepped in and saved you. Would you have liked that?"

"Oh yes," she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut and her legs giving a slight jolt. Joffrey let out a low laugh as he pulled his hand across her middle, ran it up to her left breast and squeezed ever so slightly. " _Joffrey_ ," Sansa said softly, and he moaned at the sound of his name, flicking her nipple. "But I wouldn't like him to kiss me. Not at all—"

"But you enjoy my kissing," Joffrey said, and leaned in to bring his lips to hers again, his hand teasing her nipple before switching to her right breast and squeezing that one in a slow motion.  _Of course she does,_ he told himself,  _why even say such a thing aloud?_

"Of course I do," Sansa said quickly, and Joffrey beamed at her response, at the sincerity and lack of hesitation. She moaned again as he kissed her hard on the mouth, pulling out his hand and seizing her by the hair once more. She squirmed when he slipped his tongue between her lips, but then, tentatively, she flicked his tongue with her own. Joffrey groaned; this was almost too much, too good.  _But not good enough—there is something missing._  He gripped her hair harder and Sansa whimpered, her breath coming out in sharp pants. Her eyes were focused on him and she looked interested. Perhaps excited, even? Hungrily, Joffrey moved closer to her, his arms wrapping around her lower back as they kissed. His hardness rubbed between Sansa's legs and she let out a gasping sigh, weaving her hands into Joffrey's bangs. He sputtered out a groan. " _Joffrey,"_ she said, so quietly he almost did not catch it.

Joffrey was used to eliciting negative reactions: gasps, whimpers, sobs of discomfort, blank and desolate expressions. Generally, he did not care one way or another what others were doing or how they were responding. Fear often aided in Joffrey's pleasure. But at this change of direction, this evidence that maybe Sansa was willing to be touched by him, Joffrey gave a long moan, heart racing. "Yes," he said, his erection rubbing against the seam of his trousers now, "yes, tell me how I'm brave. Tell me I'm the king, the true king."

"You are," Sansa said, her eyes closing again, and she shivered as he fumbled with the front of his trousers. "You are the bravest king, the only king! My brave Joffrey. Just like the ballad of Lady Eyrn and Ser Tomas, like that."

"Like what?" Joffrey questioned breathlessly into her ear, hand on his front where he was disrobing, peeling layers away to expose his hard cock. "Who?"

"It's a Northern ballad," Sansa explained quickly, and moaned as he cupped the front of her privates through her nightgown. Joffrey grinned as she continued. "Ser Tomas was a brave and gallant knight, the bravest there ever was, and he saved his lady from all kinds of dangers. I used to sing the song when I was a girl. I always hoped I would find a boy like him."

Joffrey kicked off his trousers and boots, and held his cock in his hand, stroking it frantically. "I'm better than that, though," he muttered, watching Sansa's face as she stared at the pumping motion his hand was making. "I'm a king, not a knight. I'm a  _king."_

"Yes," Sansa nodded, "you are a king—"

"Tell me about today," Joffrey murmured. "About how I saved you from those men in the alley.  _Oh,"_ he moaned out, pulling himself in a harder grip. A slick little spurt of pre-seminal liquid ran out and he vigorously used it to lubricate himself, grunting thickly and biting his lip. After a few seconds of silence, he threw an expectant look at Sansa. "Go on!" he demanded in a sharp voice, and whined out another moan.  _Keep talking, it's good, it's good—soon, I will be ready and I'll have you and you'll see how great I am, all over again._

Sansa faltered for a moment, and he fixed her with his powerful stare until she nodded, drawing a breath. "You were so brave, my king, when you saw me there. If it weren't for you, I'd be dead—they'd have killed me and you saved me from them. You were slashing them with your sword and you killed each one—"

"Describe it to me," Joffrey said, pulling himself harder. "Describe it in detail, how I killed them!" When he shut his eyes, he could imagine himself perfectly in the scene and it seemed so realistic he could have sworn he was actually there.

"You were a great fighter. You killed them, all of them—you did it so fast, too—"

"Was there blood"

"…Yes."

" _Oh,_ describe the blood—"

"Red, thick, and so much of it, too," Sansa whispered.

"And was there blood on you? Was there a lot of blood from your cut?"

"Y-yes," Sansa put in somewhat slowly. "Yes, there was blood on me—"

Joffrey nodded, ecstatic. "Good, good, yes, you looked so beautiful. And I helped you up and I held you in my arms and told you I'd never let anything happen to you, ever again. You are my lady, my queen. And I lifted you up onto my horse—" he took Sansa's hand in his and brought it to his cock. She very slowly began to run her fist up and down his shaft, watching him all the time. Joffrey gritted his teeth, his head leaning back onto the pillow. "Faster," he commanded, and put his hand over hers, directing her movements over him. "Better," he murmured,  _"better,_ yes—yes—!"

Sansa caught his eyes in her curious gaze and she quickened her pace. Joffrey tried to lose himself and close his eyes, but he snapped them open to watch her. Though her movements were not unsatisfactory, he wasn't entirely pleased with this. Relinquishing control gave him a sick feeling deep inside that interfered with his concentration. Joffrey blinked several times, swallowing to moisten his dry throat. He tried to focus on Sansa's hair and face, the steady motion of her hand over his hardness. Her red curls swung around her shoulders, free and loose. He favored her hair that way though the red color still gave him slight unease, as beautiful as it was. Joffrey tried to lose himself in the pleasure but the thoughts were getting in tonight.

_At least she doesn't have it pulled up as she did earlier,_ he decided, clenching his teeth as she looked him over for a response and continued to stroke him,  _it should be clear to her by now that she should not wear such styles. That stupid red-haired whore had red curls all set up atop her head; it was almost as though Uncle Tyrion knew and chose her to mock me. Stop thinking about it. Think about Sansa._ But as he watched her shyly work his cock with her hand, Joffrey's dread grew. Sitting back was not his place. He wasn't going to be the recipient here. He did not want her to have the satisfaction of seeing his reactions, did not want to weaken himself by letting her please him like this. Besides, her bowed head was distracting; he kept imagining her red curly locks pulled up in a Southern style and while he could not quite explain why he was so fixated upon this, he could not stomach another second. He pushed her hand off him and gripped her throat.

"Lie back," he hissed and she did as she was instructed, letting out a small whimper. Joffrey smiled at her submission, instantly feeling his strange apprehension disappear like smoke in the air. Sansa kept her eyes on his as he struggled to put himself inside her, and she let out a short, piercing cry when he finally found her entrance. He massaged her breast through the silky gown as he slid inside her cunt, and he felt an enormous difference in the feeling instantly. "You feel—wet," he managed to get out, sighing in pleasure. "You're so, so wet—"

"I'm sorry!" Sansa said, and her face looked rosy; she was blushing deeply.

"It feels good," Joffrey retorted. "It pleases me—." He stopped talking to let out a groan, bringing himself out of her a tiny bit and then slapping his cock back in. He relished in the sensation, the skin-on-skin sounds and Sansa's dripping core.  _Let this be enough,_ he told himself,  _let it do. It's good enough._ But in that place in the back of his mind, he knew he'd need something more eventually. He lasted a minute before the feeling grew tired, and he squeezed her nipple as hard as he could through her nightgown. Sansa gave a cry, a shrill and loud protesting cry. "It hurts, doesn't it?" Joffrey grinned, and drove himself into her again. "Only I can make you hurt," he whispered, his eyes heavily lidded with enjoyment. He worked up a rhythm, slamming into her quickly as she gave short moans and stared up at him widely.  _And you won't ever hurt me because you're afraid of me. Just as it should be._

Joffrey's motions made a rapid squelching sound as he drove himself in and out of Sansa, and his jaw was slightly ajar with pleasure. He sighed and gripped her hands, taking them hard in his fingers and holding them against the pillow. "I can't stand much longer," he said, "you do feel good, Sansa." She said nothing, her face motionless. " _I said_ , you feel good—"

"And so do you," Sansa offered almost cautiously, prompting Joffrey to pump her harder, tightening his grip on her fingers. "Joffrey! Yes, it is good!" she called, in a tone that was neither unpleasant nor favorable. Another familiar voice, one that Joffrey sometimes heard in his ears if he did not go to great lengths to avoid it, rang in his head as he fucked her: _You are a good boy aren't you, a handsome prince, his grace is too tired now, what is wrong now, come and I will help you, no I do not know where the queen is, not here, why don't you come sit in my lap._ He gripped Sansa strongly and drove himself into her, willing himself to be vacant, to lose these wandering thoughts. He'd been so successful at focusing before—why couldn't he do it now? Why was his mind playing these tricks on him when he needed to be in control? He had to be in control, had to overpower Sansa, prove himself, proving himself would take away the bad things. It always seemed to, at least.

Joffrey let out a small, reproachful sound as he felt on the verge of softening inside of Sansa and in that instant he knew it was unavoidable. He mentally cursed, making a face. Just like that, he lost his erection and was staring down at her, completely mortified. Sansa stared up at him in that naïve, wide-eyed way and he prayed she did not understand. He pulled out of her and ran a hand nervously through his hair, his shoulders shaking slightly as he sat up straight next on the bed next to her reclined body. It seemed that there was an endless silence that followed, Sansa looking at him apprehensively as his breathing returned to normal. He wanted very much to release his orgasm inside her, but he knew from experience it would be difficult now. He did not want Sansa to see him struggling with his erection, and he'd have to try other ways to get himself hard; given his usual routine, it could take several minutes or an hour, or two. Or three. Worse, it might never happen. Tonight, it had almost worked to be content with talking to Sansa and feeling her mouth on his, her hands on him.  _Almost._ Joffrey seethed inside.  _It's never enough!_ He punched the mattress in frustration and Sansa jumped, making a slight noise of surprise.

"Is something wrong?" she bleated.

"I'M FINE!" Joffrey burst out, balling his fists and refraining from slapping her across the face. "I can handle myself, you know!" Red-faced and feeling very young, he gathered his clothing and dressed, turning away from her as he did so. He pulled his trousers and tunic back on, and put on his boots, breathing hard. "I request you to be at dinner this week," he said through a glower when he finally turned back to face her. He pointed at her, finger shaking slightly in the air. "And you won't wear your hair up. Be sure to remember that!"

Sansa pulled her nightgown over herself and peered at him from the bed as he stalked toward the door.  _Next time, I'll fuck her until she bleeds! I'll have her until she's screaming! That will work! It has to,_ he decided and grabbed the doorknob. He threw the door open and found himself face to face with a slight, very pretty dark-haired woman. Joffrey looked her up and down, eyebrows raised. She was wearing the attire of a handmaiden but she was unfamiliar to him.

The strange handmaiden gasped, covering her mouth. "Your grace!" she exclaimed, giving Joffrey the very worst curtsy he had ever seen in his entire life.

He couldn't hold back a snort before throwing a glance back at Sansa. "Is this one yours?" he asked in a scoffing tone, though he approved of the woman's obvious respect for him.

Sansa nodded, and her eyes were huge. "I'm so sorry!" she put in, grabbing her coverlet and throwing it over herself. "I—Shae—the king was just—"

"No explanation is necessary," Joffrey said with a flippant shrug and a sneer. He looked the handmaiden straight in her black eyes. "You won't repeat to anyone that I was here… or I'll chop your head off. Ask Sansa what I did to her father and you'll think twice about spreading rumors about your king." He threw a sweet smile back at Sansa and then faced the handmaiden. "Besides, my betrothed and I were merely conversing." His voice was thick with honey, that tone that made his mother smile and everyone else shake.

The handmaiden kept her head lowered, hands held in front of her. "I wouldn't dream of it, your grace. I saw nothing. Absolutely nothing. You were not ever here, your grace," she said in a firm, serious tone.

"Good!" Joffrey said loudly. "Goodnight, Sansa. Sleep well," he said, his voice somewhere in between falsely polite and sincerely caring. Joffrey liked to keep everyone guessing, especially the people closest to him. They should never take him for granted. He could do anything he wanted and say what he pleased.

As he pushed past the handmaiden and made the walk back to his chambers, he felt a very tiny inkling of dread. In the days to come, he'd need to be prudent about making certain that bitch was not going to blabber to his mother or any of the other cunts who worked in the castle. There were always little birds flitting around, and that did not just mean ravens. Although Joffrey's tone had been confident, he realized after a few moments of walking that his knees were wobbling slightly. When he reached his chambers, he flopped onto his bed, his mind a cloud of images that played behind his eyes like gruesome illustrations. He passed out moments later, immune to it all by now. He slept deeply but it was the kind of sleep that brings no comfort; it was only a few hours' rest to endure the next living day.

 


	14. No Children

* * *

 

SANSA

* * *

 

"Lady Sansa!" burst out Shae in a hushed voice, rushing to the bed. Her eyes were wild with question, questions Sansa knew she did not wish to answer.

Sansa's cheeks were tinged pink and her body pulsed with emotion: she was reeling over Joffrey's frivolous mentioning of her father's beheading but also ashamed, and confused and… Something else? She was unsure how to pinpoint just what it was. When Joffrey had asked Sansa to describe the scene of him rescuing her from her assailants, she'd realized just how important it was for him to be the hero of the tale rather than the Hound. It was almost sort of sweet.  _Well,_ she corrected herself,  _it would have been sweet months ago. Before Father. Before everything went so wrong._  Though, as she'd questioningly watched him touch himself, Sansa had discovered how very easy it was to imagine Joffrey in the hero's role. After all, she'd spent much time in Winterfell idealizing Joffrey, fantasizing about her sweet blond prince with the emerald gaze and kind heart. Though Joffrey's request to hear about the blood was a bit off-putting, he'd also fashioned them a story where he'd promised her loyalty, romantically clutched to her and lifted her onto his horse for them to ride off together back to their castle. He'd even called her his queen. This kind of tale always put Sansa's heart aflutter, and just moments ago she'd been in bed beside her betrothed king, sharing fantasies together and touching each other in a manner Sansa did not dislike. And when he'd entered her, it had been different, entirely different. There was something in his touch that was more appealing. He had not been so harsh or hasty until the very end when he'd looked at her as if he was furious with her. Sansa had no idea why and she had no time to dissect the scene because Shae was staring at her in expectant concern.

"I had no idea, I mean—of course I did not know, but it was not my intention to walk into that," Shae said quickly in a whisper. "He knows you have servants! How did he think he could keep it from everyone?" She spoke in a very quiet voice that Sansa had to strain to hear: "He  _is_ as stupid as they all say, isn't he!"

"That is not it," Sansa found herself saying, "he's not stupid, he likely did not even think about anyone else being here!"  _Why am I defending him?_

Luckily Shae did not seem to notice the slip. "I'd be so sorry if he comes down harder on you for it but he cannot really expect to keep this hidden from everyone forever. Did he hurt you, Lady Sansa?"

Sansa felt her eyes slightly glaze over as Shae was talking and very slowly shook her head in response to the question. "It was—" she stopped herself, and tried to think of how to answer. "No, he did not hurt me," she finally said. Her face felt on fire; she was certain Shae was going to see beneath her red cheeks, see how she'd actually  _enjoyed_  her time with Joffrey, all things considered.  _It could have been much worse. He was not kind but he was not cruel. His teeth and the way he gripped my hands—that hurt, it hurt very much, but it was a different sort of hurt than a riding crop or having me beaten. It was… It was a nice sort of hurt._ Sansa bit her lip at this bizarre thought, trying to make sense of it. Joffrey had had repugnant moments while in her bed—the blood, his loud commands, his assertion that he was the only person who could make her hurt—but in contrast with the other times they'd spent together, Joffrey had actually shown a more favorable side of himself.

When he'd kissed her, Sansa was able to imagine everything was as it should be. This only lasted so long, but it was a welcome state of mind to live in, better than the reality of the situation that made her sick and ashamed. She'd been horrified at first at Joffrey's rough fumbling but it had improved drastically as they lay side by side. Sansa had been able to fashion a story in her head, that she'd been at the mercy of four very bad men and her heroic King Joffrey had ridden in on his horse, Valyrian steel sword swinging high in the air. The thing was, once they'd got to talking, it was not so difficult to imagine. When Joffrey kissed her with tenderness and slowly touched her tongue with his own instead of shoving it down her throat, he'd been like Sansa's ideal suitor. When he'd put himself inside her and stared into her eyes, she'd lost herself in his gaze, staring up at his handsome, boyish face. Sansa knew this was not real, yet it felt so good to wish it was.

"If you need me to stay away for a bit, I will," Shae was saying, "I just do not want you to be blamed. I do not want to leave your side, believe me—but I will do what is best for you. Especially after today! You have been through far too much in this place—"

"Shae, it is not your fault," Sansa said quickly, her body tensing up as she held the coverlet over herself. She was still pulsing and tingling slightly between her legs where Joffrey had been, and frantically trying to ignore it.

"I can help you," Shae said strongly, and she reached out to grip Sansa's shoulder but Sansa shrugged her off, disliking the contact. "Forgive me," Shae said, drawing back. "But—please, I offered before, when this all started happening, I can tell someone and he can help you. I know he can. He is close to the king, and while the king might not listen to him he could at least try—"

"No!" Sansa hissed, shaking her head. "No one can know! You heard Joffrey! He'd have you murdered—"

"He could try," Shae said quietly, and Sansa was irritated with her handmaiden's confidence. "Let me help you, Sansa. Let me do something."

"You can draw me a bath," Sansa said, "and stay with me until I fall asleep. That would help me, I think. Sometimes I just lie awake and I can't stop thinking of all the terrible things I cannot change. I try to pray but mostly I just try to piece together how it all went so wrong."

Shae gave a gusty sigh, her facial expression wholly empathetic. "You are only thirteen, but sometimes you seem to be much, much older."

Sansa looked at Shae and offered a slight smile. Years ago, she would have considered this a compliment, a quality to be cherished. "Thank you," she said in her best imitation of earnestness.

"I would not wish that on anyone, my lady. My childhood was robbed of me," Shae said quickly and she sat delicately on the edge of Sansa's bed. Sansa was mortified, she wanted to tell Shae she was not decent, wanted to exclaim that the king had just had her there, but she did not have the words. Shae went on, lightly fingering the bedspread between her pointer and thumb. "When I look at you, I see a beautiful and kind girl who sits trapped in a room all day. A prisoner."

_Get this bird back to her cage,_  the Hound had said.

"It is not so bad," Sansa said, voice cracking slightly as she held the coverlet to her still, with trembling hands.

"No need to pretend with me," Shae said, and her warm, kind tone sounded alien to Sansa after a long day spent with Joffrey and Ser Clegane. "You are safe with me. That I can offer you, if nothing else. I will help you bathe and I will brush your hair, and if you would like, I'll talk and if you don't like, I'll listen. I would offer to sing you a song, but you might throw me out the window when you hear my voice."

Sansa's brows furrowed slightly, slowly working out that it was a joke. A true smile blossomed on her lips and she allowed herself to laugh, to  _really_ laugh. Shae laughed, too, a musical and comforting sound. Sansa continued to laugh, breaking away from Joffrey, away from the fake story of her rescue, away from his piercing stare and pinching fingers, away from the possibility of being thrown to a man who terrified her for the king's amusement, away. And suddenly, Sansa was laughing and crying all at once, and she leaned toward Shae and let the woman take her into her arms. As Shae wrapped Sansa in a hug, Sansa felt present for the first time that day. Shae cared about her enough that she would not hurt her. At this thought, Sansa wept with joy as Shae gingerly stroked her hair.  _This is real,_ she told herself.  _This. Is. Real._

_. . ._

The week flew by and Sansa played all of her parts accordingly. She remained indifferent toward Ser Clegane as he delivered her about the castle, despite his ugly scowls and silent treatment. Her suppers with the Lannisters were fairly uneventful, which Sansa was deeply grateful for. Joffrey wasn't overly thrilled with her, that much was obvious, but he was not hot-tempered either. His mind seemed to be occupied with other matters that Sansa did not wish to inquire about. Cersei asked Sansa dozens of questions about what she'd been busying herself with, and Sansa was ready with the kind of answers she figured the queen wanted to hear:  _Oh, I've been studying poetry. I wrote a sonnet. I attended court and watched his grace's rulings for the day. I admired the tapestries in the east wing—they are ever so grand! I walked about the godswood and prayed the war will be over soon._ When Cersei asked why Sansa wanted the war to be over, Sansa already had an answer prepared:  _Because I wish to marry my beloved Joffrey as soon as possible._ At this, the king had tilted his head to the side and smiled thinly, giving a very boyish look to his smooth face. Sansa had been the picture of ladylike and had bowed her head, smiling serenely, until she felt his eyes cease to dissect her movements. The queen had nodded her own golden head in approval.

Of course, the truth was that Sansa was praying as hard as she could that her brilliant brother Robb would triumph, that he'd slaughter all of King Joffrey's armies. Then, Sansa had ruminated, he'd appear in King's Landing, valiant and victorious as he always was in the North and he'd slay the few who remained between him and the Iron Throne. Was Joffrey really not the rightful heir of Robert Baratheon? It was something Sansa had given little thought to; she didn't care about the logistics. It had not even crossed her mind, as she could not imagine what this meant. It simply did not matter. She wanted Robb to defeat the Lannisters with all her heart, whether Joffrey was a Baratheon or not. Although Sansa could imagine Robb triumphing over Westeros and usurping King Joffrey, Sansa could not truly picture seeing the Lannisters slain in front of her. She remembered her words to Joffrey so many months ago, when she threatened that Robb would bring her his head—her only retort to Joffrey before he showed her exactly what he'd been waiting to use his new power for. But Sansa had thought about it again and again though in sincerity she did not  _want_ Joffrey's head. It might please her for one moment, the meaning behind it, but it would make her sick more than anything. She wanted no one's head. She only prayed for her family and freedom.

Lately, Sansa was attempting to find the things about King's Landing that did not make her wish to die. This had been another urging from Shae on the night she'd given Sansa much needed company in her chambers after Joffrey had departed. Sansa had begun to make a list for herself, a list of the good things, and the places and people that kept her strong.

Things and places were easiest. Sansa still enjoyed the release that drawing and sewing allowed her, and she did find distraction in her studies. Her favorite places were limited. She had come to detest most of the castle grounds because they reminded her so much of her father's demise and of Arya's disappearance. She supposed she enjoyed the gardens: the breeze and flickering sunlight could be somewhat comforting in comparison to her quarters and the dusty darkness of the throne room she couldn't help but associate with Joffrey's immense cruelty. But the godswood brought Sansa more comfort than any place in King's Landing. She could clear her head and take in the beautiful scenery while pouring herself into her prayers.

People were even more difficult to list. There was Shae, who topped the list, of course. Sometimes, Sansa would see Ser Dontos, Joffrey's fool, and she was also happy for that. Ser Dontos had been kind to her and had told her he owed her his own life. But Sansa thought that was silly. She had not stepped in to stop Dontos from dying for anything in return. It would have quite horrified her to see the man drown himself in wine. She could count Ser Dontos among the few people she truly liked. Varys, the soft-spoken and extravagantly dressed man on Joffrey's small council, made Sansa feel some unease though he was not unkind. Sometimes she felt he was watching her. She would feel eyes on her back and turn to look, finding herself in Varys' focus. He'd smile slightly and tilt his head respectfully before ducking away. Sansa also had Lord Baelish, her mother's old friend. Sansa quite liked him (if only because he gave her a tiny shred of hope she would see her mother again soon) but his astuteness was a bit unnerving.

If Sansa really stretched her definition of "good", she could include several other people who were related to her captors, though not responsible for Father. Lord Tyrion was polite to her, for a Lannister. Tommen also brought Sansa cheerfulness. He was a kind-hearted boy but timid around his mother and Joffrey, which made Sansa's heart twist in a knot. Cersei said despicable things to him, seemingly taking joy in remarking upon what she considered babyish behavior and weakness. She was constantly comparing him to Joffrey who would smirk intensely anytime the subject came up. Why, the other night, Cersei had even scoffed that it was fortunate Tommen was not king for it would be mortifying to have a ruler who had only recently stopped "wetting himself." Cersei and Joffrey had enjoyed a good laugh at that while Tommen sat silently staring at his plate. Sansa went out of her way to be kind to Tommen. After all, she could not imagine someone saying such things to Bran, who was around the same age.

"Are you  _really_ going to marry Joffy?" Tommen asked Sansa the following day. He'd located her in the garden where she was sketching the winding roses, as his nursemaid sat stitching across the walkway. She admired the crimson color but couldn't help wondering if when Joffrey looked at them he thought of blood.

Sansa set her artwork down, thankful for agreeable company. "Yes," she said and put on the placid smile she'd perfected for the queen regent, one reminiscent of Cersei's own expression. "I will marry King Joffrey as soon as the war is all done—"

"What will happen to you after?" Tommen wanted to know, and inspected Sansa's painting brush with curious eyes that lacked the severity of his brother and mother's gaze. "May I see?"

"What do you mean?" Sansa asked softly, flipping the pages of parchment for the curly-haired little prince to look at her drawings. He admired them loudly, making Sansa laugh happily. Tommen was a little boy but he was kind and friendly. Sansa did not care what the queen said about him. She'd rather her betrothal had been to Prince Tommen in a heartbeat though she expected it would be a much different sort of union indeed. Sansa had long wished for a handsome husband, but at least Tommen had the potential to grow into a good man, and that was far better than Joffrey. Despite her strange new relationship to Joffrey, Sansa was trying hard to hold onto the truth.

Tommen ran a finger carefully over the outline of Sansa's depiction of the throne room, all chalky blacks and jagged lines. "Is he going to hurt you?" he asked matter-of-factly.

Sansa blanched and gathered her drawing utensils back into her lap. "He wouldn't hurt me," she said stiffly, doing a quick visual sweep of the courtyard. She was never confident she was alone; someone's eyes were always on her. "He's very good to me and I love him with all my heart."  _He is like Ser Tomas. Or Prince Urik—he rode horseback straight up a tower to save his Lady Amelia. Yes, when Joffrey marries me, I pray he will change. He'll be more like our last night alone together, and less like a grotesque beast._

"I love my Joffy, too," said Tommen earnestly, "but he usually hates me!" He shrugged. "He only says he loves me when my septa is there. Or Mother. And even  _then_  sometimes he calls me names."

Smoothing her skirts, Sansa tried to decide how to approach this subject in the most diplomatic way possible. "Sometimes brothers fight. I know, because mine did  _all_ the time. And I don't only have one brother. I have four. And Theon—he is practically the same as a brother. He teases me enough to be one."

"Four brothers?" Tommen asked, an eager tone to his high, sweet voice. "My!"

"Yes, four. And Jon and Robb often argued but I always knew they did not hate each other. When you are older, you and Joffrey may get on quite well. You'll see," she smiled, trying to believe this, for Tommen's sake.  _At least when I am queen, Tommen will have me. I will not be able to do much for him, but I will be there._

"Maybe," said Tommen a bit wistfully. "It's all so different now that he's the King. He doesn't come to lessons with me anymore, and Myrcella and me got a new septa. Before Myrcella had to go away, that is. I do not see him as much though sometimes that's not so bad." He paused, looking up to Sansa as if he'd said something wrong. "But I still love him!" he put in quickly.

"Of course you do," Sansa said gently, thinking what a good boy Tommen was, and how much strife Joffrey must have put him through. At least the worst Robb and Jon ever did was squall and, very rarely, come to blows. They were two young men, matched in combat. Tommen was absolutely no match for his older brother.

"I am glad, though, that he does not wake me up anymore," Tommen went on, lowering his voice and still tracing along Sansa's drawing. Sansa flipped the parchment to show him an illustration of Death's Door, pawing at the ground, his black mane flowing in the wind. "Ooh, I like this one! You did well! You did very well, Lady Sansa!"

"Then it is yours, Prince Tommen," she said. "You can have it." The prince's plump face brightened as she handed over the drawing and he clutched it to his heart. Sansa turned to the next parchment, one of a great bouquet of roses with doves all around it. "Why did Joffrey wake you up?" she asked.

"To play games with him in the dark," Tommen responded offhandedly, still admiring the sketch of Joffrey's stallion. Sansa's gaze flicked to Tommen's septa, who was still sewing and paying them no mind at all.

Sansa was about to ask what kinds of games Tommen was referring to, when a noisy voice cut the quiet:

"Faster, Dog! I'm going to test this on the first enemy I see! Stannis won't stand a chance! Ha!"

"Joffy!" Tommen exclaimed, and Sansa was bemused by the actual joy in his voice.

Joffrey jumped into the walkway, Ser Clegane on his heels. The king was brandishing a handsome hunting knife with a gold hilt. He swung it carelessly to and fro in the air, and Tommen's septa nervously stashed away her sewing. "Oh, look, Dog! Good!  _Three_ enemies!" shouted Joffrey merrily, and swished the knife. His tone was merry and he wore a happy grin instead of a sneer, for once.

"Two ladies and a babe," grumbled Clegane with a wry smile. "Some enemies indeed, my king."

"I suppose you're right!" Joffrey said agreeably, and Sansa wondered what it was that had him in such a fantastic mood. Still, she couldn't expect it to last long so she'd certainly enjoy the moment while it lasted. "You'll all be lucky I'm around when Stannis invades! I'll save each of you!"

"Indeed you will, your grace," said the septa, still fretfully eyeing the blade.

Sansa stared, wondering exactly what Joffrey was on about. She'd heard the name Stannis Baratheon thrown about, knew it was Robert's brother they were speaking of, but she hadn't known he was thinking of invading. "Invading where?" she asked tentatively.

Joffrey's eyes looked wide with excitement, and he puffed out his chest. "Oh, you hadn't heard!" He practically skipped toward them and shoved Tommen aside to sit beside Sansa. She tried to ignore the fact that his scent set her legs to wobbling and instead tried to focus on his words. "Stannis sails in as we speak. He thinks he's going to overthrow my reign! He's jealous, you see! What he does not know is I will stick him, just as someone did my Uncle Renly!" Joffrey made a jabbing motion with the knife and laughed. "I'd knight the hero who did that deed!"

"Renly was a coward," barked the Hound, shaking his head. "You might as well knight a sheep."

Joffrey burst into slightly manic giggles, jabbing the knife in midair even still.

"But what's to happen?" Sansa pressed, her tension rising a bit. "What will Stannis do?"

"He'll try to throw me off the throne. He wants to be the king, but I'm the king! He wants to take over the castle but I won't let him!" Joffrey said, a hint of snappishness springing into his voice. "I'll cut him!" Joffrey said, and made like he was going to impale his blade into Tommen's brain.

"Oh, please be careful!" Sansa exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hands.  _Stupid! Stupid!_

Joffrey's eyes flashed. "What?" he snapped acidly, and his teeth looked sharp and bright in the sunlight.  _Monster._

"It's just—he's a little boy," Sansa said, attempting to sound relaxed. "You don't wish to hurt him." Suddenly, she got an odd feeling, almost a flash of what the future might be like with the king. She could imagine this scene playing out exactly the same in a few years, except with Sansa defending their children from Joffrey. It was such a profound vision that Sansa felt weak with the weight of it.

"No, but I  _will_ cut Stannis. Here." Joffrey very lightly touched the tip of his knife to Sansa's throat. "And here, too," he said in a low mutter, the very voice he used in the candlelight in her chambers, making a motion of sawing at her stomach. "Until all of his guts spill out."

Sansa set her jaw. She had some faith Joffrey wouldn't really kill her; she wasn't certain he was capable of it, but felt her heart race all the same Tommen looked straight ahead, not making any movement and the septa stared down at the ground, feigning interest in the cobblestones. Ser Clegane rolled his eyes and strode forward.

"I thought you were done with picking birds apart. Let this one fly away," he said gruffly. "You can test your new knife on far more satisfying targets than sparrows who can't even chirp." He raised his eyebrows at Sansa. She reddened at the obvious insult and pressed her legs together tighter but was relieved when Joffrey removed the blade from her skin.

"My Hound is correct. Mother gave me permission to take a short hunting trip. When I return I'll be ready to slit a hundred throats!" he announced, sounding upbeat again. He leapt off the little stone wall and in one move, he thrust his knife across the plants and knocked the heads off a assemblage of roses. "Like that!" he shouted. Sansa felt on the verge of tears, watching Joffrey destroy beauty in such a way.

Ser Clegane let out his signature wheezing guffaw. "I was told by the queen regent you would be hunting, not gardening."

"Gardening! Ha ha ha!" Joffrey erupted into loud laughter. "Good one, Dog." He threw Sansa a last look-over before bounding down the walkway, destroying all the roses he could manage.

. . .

Fast asleep, Sansa rolled back and forth under her coverlet with sweat surfacing upon her temple. She was in the midst of a terrible nightmare, one where she was back in the midst of the King's Landing riot. This time there was no one there to save her. Not Ser Clegane and not even King Joffrey. She ran from the men, their hands pawing at the skirts that trailed behind her, greedy and angry. She was screaming but no sound was coming out.  _Please, no, no, no, don't!_ Finally, the inevitable happened. She was overtaken and slapped, then thrown onto the hard ground and one of the men pulled out a knife. The knife changed in her mind's eye, looking much like Joffrey's new blade, and-

Sansa reared out of her covers, out of breath and gasping for air. She ran her hands through her damp hair, feeling terrified. The light that seeped through the windows of her room felt eerie and much too bright and her legs, her legs felt sticky. At once, she threw the covers off herself and let out a mortified cry.

"No!" she said aloud, for there was a dark blot of blood between her open legs. Her thighs were coated in the red mess and it was spreading; she could tell it had already sunk into the sheets and perhaps even the mattress. "No, no, no!" she whispered, out of bed in a flash. She was trying to cut out the bloody stain out of her bedding as fast as she could when Shae came into her room.

"What's this—" Shae's expression was clouded with confusion until she spied the blood, perking up a bit. "Oh! It's only—"

"No!" Sansa cut her off, her voice a curt hiss. "It means I can bear his  _children!_  If we... if we...are together again, I could become... and, I'll be dead, Shae! I'll be dead if I am with child before we are to be wed!"

Shae's face instantly became stoic and she rushed to Sansa's side, and together they worked at pulling the blankets off. Sansa felt even more panicked as it was confirmed that yes, the blood had seeped through into the mattress.  _They'll know! They'll know and I'll be wed to Joffrey straight away and it's going to come true, what I thought about Tommen. It's going to happen sooner than I ever thought and I can't do it! I can't!_

"Focus!" Shae urged. "We must find a way to burn this! We'll get rid of it!"

Out of the corner of her eye, Sansa caught a glimpse of another woman, a handmaiden she'd never seen before. She let out a strangled cry, pointing. Shae whipped around.

"I must tell the queen!" the fair-haired woman exclaimed, and turned to run but Shae took off after her. Sansa heard their footsteps clattering down the hall and hoped this might buy her time, that she could hide the evidence she was finally ready to be Joffrey's queen. She'd been hoping, somehow, that she'd get out of her betrothal—Robb was supposed to have won by now! And Stannis was to invade! Perhaps a few weeks more, that was all she needed! She wrenched the blankets off and set to work at the mattress, stabbing at the stain.

"It's no use, little bird. You can stop that now."

Eyes widening, Sansa slowly turned around to see Ser Clegane hovering over her. Her face burned and she couldn't help but burst into tears. "Please, please, please," she murmured in a sob, rocking herself back and forth and trying not to think about the fact that he'd likely seen the blood, seen the stains on her legs. Somehow that was worse than the fact she'd very obviously been planning to tell a huge lie to the Lannisters.

"There are some tasks a Dog takes no pleasure in. Try to know that, girl," Clegane said, and his voice was neither dry nor sullen. On the contrary, it was quiet and dismal and may have comforted Sansa if it weren't him. But it was him, it was Joffrey's firsthand guard, and so Sansa wept quietly into her hands until the Dog made her get up, his gnarled hand remarkably soft on her shoulder. It was time to tell Queen Cersei about the news.

 


	15. Inner Workings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contains brief description of animal abuse that I did not enjoy writing.

* * *

JOFFREY

* * *

 

 

"Let's to the castle, quickly! I want very much to use my new knife!" Joffrey said enthusiastically, as he knelt before the carcass of the doe he'd just shot down using only three arrows.

Clegane chuckled. "I thought you were searching for a name. Just calling it a knife? Good. I can't stand for cunts who go naming their swords. Imagine how foolish you'd look waving around a wee hunting knife with some grand title—"

Joffrey let out a loud snort. "Not me," he scoffed. "Only a grand weapon deserves a grand name!" He had, in fact, been thinking of a name for the new hunting knife but the Hound was right. It would sound rather stupid. Even though Joffrey did not care much for what others thought, Ser Clegane knew a great deal about fighting, killing and being a man. Joffrey did not want to do anything to seem boyish or weak around his Dog, servant or not. He very carefully removed the arrows and cleaned them meticulously with a cloth from the satchel that Meryn held out steadily before him. He'd brought along Meryn and Clegane to attend to him during the hunt and it had been a splendid adventure. They had not traveled too far, only about three hours out on horseback, though still a very agreeable trip. It was good to be in the company of men and men only. Women had only helped in confusing or angering Joffrey as of late.

Mother had been especially annoying after delivering the news of Stannis' impending invasion. She'd been doting and teary-eyed for days, and had begun to deliver very unhelpful, depressing bits of advice for him. Joffrey wanted to stuff something in her mouth to stop her from speaking. And the situation with Sansa was on his mind more than he'd like to admit. He felt their last sex had been an improvement over the first time, and though he was determined to try again he did not want to appear too eager. It had also been a bit jolting that bedding Sansa had reminded Joffrey distinctly of her, the girl ( _or was it girls?_ ) he sometimes heard in his head or saw in the blackness when he was trying to sleep. He did not know what to make of these thoughts and so he shut them out.

He also had not heard any evidence that Sansa's handmaiden had squealed on them. Likely, Sansa had either denied their relations or explained how sweet Joffrey had been to her, how he'd saved her life. Joffrey did not want Mother knowing about his sexual life, but he was slightly disappointed Sansa's maid had apparently stayed silent for he very much wished to punish her. She'd been very pretty and Joffrey could perfectly imagine her gagged and then bound with ropes to the posters of his bed, her wide eyes gleaming in the soft candlelight. Perhaps with Sansa standing in front of her hanging form, ready with his new knife, ready to tease the hole between her traitorous handmaiden's legs while he watched.

It was time for Joffrey to face the truth: Sansa was his betrothed and the war would likely be done. That combined with the interesting information Mother had relayed to him, that Sansa had truly become a woman, was weighing heavily on him. He knew if he did wish to fuck Sansa again prior to their wedding, he would need to be much more careful. However, he was not quite certain  _how_ he'd be more careful. He'd never been well versed in the ways of sex and even now that he'd done it, twice, he was still a bit mystified. If Sansa got pregnant with his child before they were to be wed, he could lie and say another man had fucked her. He could pin it on anyone, really—anyone he pleased, anyone he wanted to be disposed of. No one would dispute him and Sansa would likely be thrown out of his kingdom and killed, along with their bastard baby. He wanted to tell himself he did not care one way or the other, but Joffrey was even more torn about Sansa then he had been before having her. He still wasn't looking forward to marrying Sansa Stark but he had to admit he did not want her dead.

Joffrey had much on his mind, and the hunting trip had done well to settle him. Being in the company of the Hound often eased Joffrey's mood, even when the Hound's behavior had been somewhat suspicious lately. Killing things also put Joffrey in a much happier way. He had slain three hares, a large pheasant, and now, the beautiful young doe that lay glassy-eyed before him. Though, truth be told, the Hound  _had_ helped a bit with the doe. Still, it was Joffrey who had shot her down. The Hound had merely directed his aim, and had told him where to shoot to bring her down more swiftly. "I am going to skin her hide off and have a cloak made, and when I triumph over Stannis I will do the same to him and all of his men! But I'll skin  _them_  alive! You'll see, Dog!" He gave the Hound a victorious smile.

"Will I?" questioned the Hound wryly, and Joffrey nodded, nose held high. "I thought her grace the queen regent wished for you to stay back from the battle. She said you would be safer within the castle walls. I think she fears Stannis will send you back to her in pieces, your grace—"

"No, no, no," Joffrey scoffed, rolling his eyes. He carefully placed the clean arrows back with his hunting tools and quickly turned back to the carcass of the deer. "Mother knows nothing about battles. She has silly ideas and only said that because she still thinks of me as her precious child—"

"You are rather precious, indeed, your grace," the Hound said gruffly and Joffrey laughed. "But in truth, it surprises me you would wish yourself upon the battlefield. Look how spotless you've stayed throughout these past hours. You may not want to be fighting when you see what war means, your grace. You may dirty your boots-"

"I don't care  _so_  much about cleanliness," Joffrey lied, "and besides, I know what war means! It means I get to kill Stannis! I told Uncle Tyrion what I shall do to him when I get him! I will greet him right on the bay, and I will give him a red smile!" Joffrey made a swiping motion inches in front of his own face with the knife. Meryn and the Hound stared at him. "Get it? Because they say he never smiles. Get it? A  _red smile!"_

The Hound gave a deep laugh and Meryn followed suit. "That I'd like to see," grunted Joffrey's Dog with a grin.

Joffrey nodded, pleased that Clegane was impressed by his remark. Tyrion never understood the brilliance of Joffrey's wit, but then again Tyrion knew nothing of battles. Lately, Joffrey had done his best to stay away from Tyrion, for his uncle was constantly commenting about Joffrey's lack of courage. This only made Joffrey smirk, for Tyrion was a weak dwarf who could only drink buckets of wine and sleep with the loosest of women. Apparently, Tyrion had attempted to fight against Robb Stark's armies—what a joke that must have been! Mother said Tyrion was knocked out cold, and she and Joffrey had both agreed that they had missed out on a great opportunity to laugh at his foolish attempts at battle.  
Mother had reminded Joffrey whenever Uncle Tyrion would wound his ego that he was simply a coward who hid behind books.

On the contrary, Joffrey knew he was like his own father: a brutal warrior! He did not think of his late father very often. He'd driven Robert Baratheon's death out of his mind as he did so many other unpleasant things. Mother said that forgetting was the only way to move on. When he did think of his father, he wished he'd been allowed more time with him. Joffrey had often vied for his company, but when his father had any free time at all it was likely he'd be in bed with one (or more) of his many whores or else out with his men on hunts. Or, in the earlier days of Joffrey's childhood, he'd be out, fighting on the field with his knights. Joffrey would have done anything for Father to allow him to come along, but he always said he had no room for him. Joffrey would stay back at the castle with Mother, who seemed just as thrilled by Robert's dismissive behavior as he was. But unlike Mother, Joffrey forgave his Father and understood that kings were busy. Still, he wished he could have known Father more, wished he could have gotten his affection.

That was why Joffrey was so eager for Stannis to arrive. This would prove to everyone he was just as much of a fighter as Robert had been! Though he had the tiniest fear of being overtaken, Joffrey knew this would not occur. He was fantastic with a blade and with his crossbow—what could happen? He could not wait for the fighting because he knew he'd be good at it; he was great at slaying animals, so how different could it be to kill a man? He'd imagined it countless times. He thought about the feeling of his sword slicing into the stomach of an enemy and how it would feel to spill all of his guts onto the ground, to watch the light leak out of the pupils of his eyes before he dropped down and died at Joffrey's feet. Or the thrill of loading an arrow into his crossbow, pumping the crank and letting it fly into someone's heart. Or better yet, right in their brain.  _But Mother said if I do go to battle, I shan't bring my crossbow. She says it takes too long to load and that it's far too dangerous. She really did not need to cry. I'm not a boy anymore. I'm a man and I'm king, and a king must defend his kingdom! Stannis is an old idiot who will be easy enough to defeat and Mother said there's absolutely no chance we'll be bested. I have more men than Stannis, and I'm not afraid! Not in the least. I cannot die. I'm the king._ As the Hound lifted up the doe and tossed her over his shoulder and they made the trek back to their horses, Joffrey went on in a loud voice. "I told Mother not to be worried. I'll have my Kingsgaurd. You'll all be there when I triumph!"

"Yes, your grace," Meryn said with a brisk nod. "We will indeed. I hope to bloody more than just a few of those traitors who dare dispute your right to the throne!"

"Bloody? You are another to talk," the Hound declared. "I will rip Stannis' heart out through his chest and then feed it to him—"

Meryn looked tense but said nothing as Joffrey dissolved into laughter and clapped his gloved hands. "Yes, yes, Dog! You do that and you'll be rewarded greatly—"

"I need no reward," grunted the Hound, the doe's legs flopping to and fro. "I look forward to slaying them. Though most of the boys fighting alongside me will be dead in seconds. They know nothing of combat. Do you know Lancel's got it in his head he's going to fight? That's a joke, that is—"

Meryn grinned. "That pretty hair will be no use to him when his head gets lopped off—"

Joffrey laughed loudly, though he was certain Mother wouldn't like to hear his men were speaking ill of a Lannister, even if it was obnoxious Lancel.

"I have half a mind to do it myself," the Hound said through gritted teeth. "Half these cowards will soil themselves the moment they see the first ripple from Stannis' fleet!"

"My mother says Stannis will be lucky to have an army of ten men," Joffrey put in smugly, heart pounding with the excitement of the conversation. He felt important and grown-up. "We had a good laugh about it—"

"I thought you said her grace knew nothing of war," the Hound said, raising his eyebrow.

"She doesn't," Joffrey said instantly. "It was a joke—"

"Do you argue with the king, Clegane?" Meryn asked combatively, hand on his sword.

Clegane snorted loudly. "Rest easily,  _Ser._ I've known the king since he was a boy. He knows I jest, and if I should anger him, no doubt he'll see fit to tell me himself. King Joffrey and I speak man to man, something you may not be so used to, Meryn."

Joffrey nodded, swelling with pride at the Hound's words. "Yes, my Dog means no harm. And I'd do well to inflict my own punishment on him if need be, so you can rest easily and stand down, Meryn," he went on, waving his hand.

"Of course, his grace is likely focused on more than simply warfare. The queen regent  _did_ pass along that the Stark girl is now a woman. Did she not?" inquired the Hound, and Joffrey noticed he gave a longer scan of Joffrey's expression than usual.

"Oh, yes," Joffrey declared, "we're to be married as soon as the war is over. I can't say I'm looking forward to it, but I made a sacred vow. And Lady Sansa is rather attractive." He smiled thinly, and looked back. "You think so too, do you not, Meryn?"

Meryn gave a short nod. "I do not notice my king's lady so much, but I will say she is very appealing. No offense—"

"None taken. I like when others notice what's mine," grinned Joffrey cockily. "You liked beating her, for me, too, I assume?"

"I did not feel one way or the other. It was my duty and I was obliged to act out your orders, my king—"

"And you enjoyed watching, too, didn't you, Dog?"

"Yes, your grace," replied the Hound dutifully. "It pleases me to see the king's justice enacted."

"Shame it wasn't me," Joffrey went on, watching his Dog all the time, "I would have enjoyed it greatly. Of course, it would have been far more exciting if she had been fully naked. Of course, I did like whipping her with the crop. That was a good day, wasn't it?"

"Perhaps once you consummate your marriage, you'll care less for beatings with arrows and swords, and more for pleasing her with your  _own_  weapon," Clegane said in a dry voice. "You may find it quite enjoyable, your grace. Your bedding will indeed make you a man."

"I am a man!" Joffrey snapped without thinking. "As it is, I know already that I enjoy doing both—" he went on loudly and then stopped as the Hound turned to give him a brisk look over.  _Curse this! No one knows I have been intimate! What if my Dog informs Mother? He would not, would he? He wouldn't dare! I must think of something, and fast!_

The Hound looked ahead once more, brush crackling at his feet as they all hurried onward. "I had wondered, your grace. So, Lady Stark—"

" _Not_ with Sansa," Joffrey lied at once, and looked from the Hound to Meryn in a quick swoop. Meryn was avoiding eye contact, focusing straight ahead with the hares swinging listlessly in his grasp. "The whores on my Name Day, Dog. Surely you recall. You saw the red-haired one drag the other out by her feet. Did you not?" He forced out a cold snicker.

"I did," Clegane nodded, but Joffrey heard a twinge of skepticism in his tone. Still, he spoke respectfully even when he was gruff. "I had to carry the girl to your uncle's chambers myself, if  _you'll_  recall, your grace. The other girl was crying too hard to do it—"

"Yes," Joffrey said with a quick nod, already visualizing the scene of himself fucking the two whores so clearly it was hard to believe it had not occurred. He'd thought about it before, alone in his chambers. He could see himself forcing the redhead to use her mouth on the other before he grabbed her by the throat and stuck himself inside her. Next he'd take the dark-haired girl from behind as she screamed and squalled from the soreness. He made certain to speak with a firm tone, one that did not invoke disbelief. "Yes, I thought you knew I had—"

"I assumed you only played with them, your grace. The black haired whore's arse was covered in black and blue bruises the size of shields. What did you do, smack her around with your cock?"

"I had the other beat her and then I fucked her," said Joffrey plainly, with a smug smile. "After I was done fucking her, I fucked the other—"

"A job well done, your grace," congratulated Meryn, as if Joffrey had just detailed how he'd shot down his kills. Joffrey threw him a proud look.

"While the black haired girl was out cold?" questioned the Hound. "It seemed to me you got rid of them fairly quickly. As I'm sure you remember, I was guarding your door—"

Joffrey's voice rose as he replied: "Of course I remember! You heard the wailing, I expect?"

"Yes, your grace," the Hound said. "The wailing I did hear. I am surprised you did not boast to me straight away. You've been keeping this inside for some time. You usually burst at the seams with good news-"

"Yes, well, you know my mother," Joffrey put in, his speed of delivery quickening. "Always asking questions. She'd likely be quite upset if she knew I'd used them in that way. She doesn't think too highly of prostitutes. She was quite angry with my Uncle Imp for sending them—"

"Which was your favorite, your grace? If I may ask," said the Hound gruffly.

Joffrey bit his lip, deciding how much he should say, how far to drag this story out. He wanted it to be believable. After all, there was a chance that Clegane suspected something was off, which would certainly explain the relentless questions.  _I cannot risk anyone knowing, even if the Dog won't tell. It seems unlikely he would, but then again his behavior toward Sansa is quite out of the ordinary. Perhaps he is jealous! If he wants her for himself, I'll soon know. But now, I must act as though I am none the wiser._

"The girl with dark hair," Joffrey said after some consideration, remembering the girl's excited face as the redhead had licked the space between her legs. "I liked her smile, and how quickly it faded when she was slapped by the other. She looked so innocent, so scared. Her cries were real—I could really hear the fear in her voice," he said quietly, feeling a bit excited by the memory.  _Use what you know,_ he urged himself. Joffrey noticed that Clegane slowed down to a creeping pace as he listened. His thoughts moved back to Sansa and how she'd cried while being stripped and beaten, then later how he'd ridden her and bitten her shoulder and neck while she shrieked in the candlelight. Her gorgeous Tully hair shining as he pulled it, her lips parted as she pleaded with him. Her wide, frightened eyes as he went in and out of her, faster and faster. "Her cunt was tight. Tighter than I expected. And wet to the touch. When I spoke into her ear, I felt her wiggle, like she really enjoyed the feeling. I think myself quite skilled."

"It sounds very well, your grace," said the Hound agreeably, "though perhaps next time you should be a bit more lenient with the beatings. I may not always be there to carry your women from place to place!"

Joffrey laughed. "I'll do to them what I please, no matter where you are." Clegane looked back at Joffrey for a brief moment, and Joffrey gave him a very wide grin. They had reached the horses, and so it was time to descend back to King's Landing. A very thick silence followed that Joffrey enjoyed. It was clear his men believed him. They knew he was not a virgin, and he could feel their respect for him rise as high as the creeping trees.

. . .

Joffrey was satisfied with the short hunting trip, and he felt he'd successfully swayed his Dog from questioning him any further. He figured that Clegane knew better than to get in his personal affairs, even if he did have some sort of lust for Sansa.  _Poor ugly Dog,_ he thought with a faint smile, beginning to slice away at the doe's front haunches.  _I like him enough that I shouldn't like us to clash, especially over an issue as stupid as the Stark girl._  The blade was exceptionally sharp, just as Joffrey demanded all of his weapons to be, and it was nearly an effortless exercise to clip the hooves. With his old knife, this process had taken so much longer. This time, the knife dove into the elbow flesh cleanly and he was able to snap the legs off at their joints almost at once. He relished the sound of cracking bone with a satisfied shiver. He cast the torn leg pieces aside with the organs he'd removed minutes before, being very careful to resist bloodying his sleeves as he did so.

Joffrey tugged on his gloves as he did every few minutes, making certain they were in place, and brought the knife to the doe's ear where he carefully sawed into her tender tissue. _Sansa is mine, no matter how disgusted she makes me. No matter how little I might feel for her. She's mine and no other man will touch her,_ he thought, and cut around slowly, breaking open the skin around the deer's neck. He licked his lips, his eyebrows flexing as he worked. He tugged on his gloves again, and wiped them on the cloth beside him. There were others who could do this for him. Father enjoyed the hunt and did not dress his kills after becoming king, pleased enough with the sport. But Joffrey liked attending to the carcasses nearly as much, if not more. He worried that someone else wouldn't be so fond of splitting off the skin, of letting the organs and blood spill and pool, of cracking off ligaments. Others did not work in the meticulous way Joffrey did. There was a craft in knife work, and a talent in appreciating the magnificence of what dwelled inside of dead things.

Of course, Joffrey hadn't always been so careful. These things take time. His curiosity for the inner workings of living animals was once a hasty thing. At age seven, he'd hacked off the head of a pigeon without a second thought, only invested in the reward of seeing the tiny arteries, the small spurt of blood, and playing with the slack-jawed beak. He'd remembered this very clearly, because Father hadn't liked it so much.  _"What kind of boy cuts down birds with brains the size of a corn kernel? I got you that handsome sword to spar, to fight! You use it to kill a bird so stupid it's a regular in pies and pastries?"_ Joffrey had recalled his father's booming laugh, ringing in his ears, and how he'd realized that Robert was right. It  _was_ quite stupid to behead a pigeon, a bird notorious for being easy to catch.

Joffrey ran the blade down the length of the doe's body and pulled up carefully at the velvety fur that held the skin on fast. The sound of soft squelching, of flesh and skin peeling, was nearly erotic in itself. He paused to pull up his gloves and wiped the knife, admiring the crimson that stained the cloth.

_Cats, though. Cats were not so easy to catch._  Joffrey had though, at age eight—he'd caught one he'd heard was pregnant and had carefully split her open to see her insides. It had been a delight that the rumors were true, and the unborn kittens had looked so interesting, so tiny, in their dead mother's womb. Tommen's reaction, all blotchy babyish tears, had been hysterical. Myrcella had shrieked and run off. Thrilled with himself, he'd shown his father he was far better than the prior assumption. Not only had he done better than a pigeon, he'd also done quite well with the handiwork of his sword.  _"See what I did! See, Father?"_ Joffrey had shouted excitedly, one of the dead babies in his outstretched gloved hand. But surprisingly, his father had not been impressed in the least. Joffrey couldn't quite remember what had happened, only that his mouth had hurt a great deal and that blood had pulsed, thick and hot, from his lips and stained his favorite tunic. And Mother's high-pitched screams at his father ( _"Honest to Gods, Robert! You could have really hurt him! And for what? For what, Robert? Some foolish business with a cat?!")_ —he remembered that, too. His jaw had been wrapped up in cloths and attended to, and Cersei had cradled him in her arms for a very long time. But Joffrey did not blame his father for whatever had transpired between them. Cats were far more impressive than pigeons, but he could do so, so much better.

. . .

Joffrey had awoken the next morning with only one thing on his mind: He wanted to show Sansa the fantastic job he'd done slaying the doe, and he looked forward to giving her all the details of his hunt. He knew she would be very impressed by the slick way he'd dressed her, and perhaps Sansa would even want a piece of the glory. Joffrey would happily gift her the head of the doe to decorate her room, or perhaps even have a cloak made for her with the hide. Sansa was enthralled with heroes in stories; imagine her excitement when she saw proof her betrothed was as skilled a hunter as those myths she loved so very much. He went to her chambers first, but found them empty. She was not taking lessons or sewing.

Joffrey practically skipped out to the gardens to look for her there and when he spied red shining hair and a glimpse of deep blue skirts near the rose garden he nearly shouted out. Then, he heard a rasping familiar voice and realized that his bride-to-be was not alone. Beside her stood Clegane and they were shadowed by a hulking tree just beyond the garden gates, whispering together. Joffrey quickly slid behind a large statue, obstructing himself completely from view and straining his ears to listen to their words. At once, a dizzy sort of feeling twisted inside of him.

"The king made it sound as such, and though you have made it clear that your fear of my face impedes your judgment I wanted to see if there was truth in the matter. He says he bedded two whores on his Name Day but I stood outside his door the whole time and thus heard what went on inside. It did not sound like anyone was bedded, but he speaks like he knows what he talks about." The hound lowered his voice and Joffrey had to focus hard to hear him. "For once." Joffrey's chest panged.  _But that was what happened! That's what I said, at least, and so he should believe that is what occurred!_

"My king can do what he likes," Sansa said stiffly. "I have no idea why you summoned for me."

"I'm not here for you to chirp at me, little bird," snapped Clegane and Joffrey bristled at the tone.  _No one can speak to Sansa that way,_ he thought angrily, heart thumping harder still. "Now, I've seen him steal to your chambers at night, and I've seen the way you two have been carrying on. Has he touched you?"

"My Joffrey has kissed me and nothing more," said Sansa in a dutiful way. Joffrey knew she was obeying his orders but he almost wanted her to say, ' _Yes! Yes, he has touched me. He has bedded me and I am his.'_

"You covered your neck with ribbons. You watch him with something different, something not unlike when I met you in Winterfell and you stammered at him as though you'd never seen anything with a cock in your life. So tell me, has he fucked you or just beaten you for fun—"

" _Ser!_ I am a  _lady—"_

"And I am a Dog! Not a Ser! I am the king's sworn shield and I am loyal to him. I battle for him and I protect him. But while some men blindly protect him, I've seen too much. The king has certain tastes and the king has hobbies. Hobbies that would make a bird fall down dead in fright if she knew. I can look out for you, as you are my future queen. You need not say a word. You may only nod."

Joffrey's entire body shook with both rage and deep, deep dejection. Clegane was  _his Dog_ , just as he'd said! And here he was, speaking in ways that Joffrey did not approve of, ways that made it sound like he did not stand by Joffrey! Not only was this traitorous and against the realm, but it was disturbing. The Hound was not  _only_ Joffrey's sworn shield. He was Joffrey's closest friend and ally, who had been there with Joffrey since he could remember! This was slander.

Joffrey fought back tears of utmost fury and, despite his desire to charge over there and tear Sansa away from the Hound, he waited for a sign that Sansa believed in him. She  _had_ to.

There was a pregnant pause, and then the Hound gave a great scoff of a laugh. "You have nothing in your brain except those damned songs you hold onto!" he said loudly. "Let us hope your head stays pretty. I should hate to be the poor bastard assigned to whacking it off your neck." At the sound of pounding footsteps, Joffrey hid back behind the statue. He heard the Dog pass him, and realized his hands hurt from clenching his knuckles.

_The Hound insults Lady Sansa and thinks he can get away with it? Threatening the future queen is a crime! And Sansa should know better than to meet with my Hound out of my presence. It is indecent for a lady to be alone with a man she does not belong to,_ thought Joffrey, and he suddenly seethed about that, too. It was all infuriating, the entire situation! But Joffrey could not show how angry he was. Not yet.

As soon as he heard Sansa's careful footsteps coming up the path, he put on a very sweet smile. "Lady Sansa!" he called out. "I have been looking for you. May I have a word?"

 


	16. Sometimes They Hurt

* * *

SANSA

* * *

 

Sansa had been reading in the warm sunlight when she'd heard Ser Clegane approach. She knew the sound of his clinking armor quite well by now, and while she did not dread seeing him as much as others she always got a nauseous feeling to hear his footfalls. It meant King Joffrey was not far. However, Joffrey was absolutely nowhere to be seen. When Clegane had hoarsely requested she follow him in a quiet tone that did not suit his hulking frame, Sansa had felt nothing but dread and stayed rooted to the garden wall.  _What does he want with me? What more can he do? He already brought me to Queen Cersei after I tried to hide my first blood. Does he mean to embarrass me further?_

The conversation with the queen regent had been awkward and foreboding. Sansa had blushed the entire time, both because of the subject matter and the fact that she'd been intimate, twice now, with King Joffrey. Cersei's scrutinizing eyes had stayed on Sansa's face, keen as a hawk, but Sansa was completely sure the queen had absolutely no idea. The entire time, Sansa had wished it was her own mother offering her reassurance about her first period. Instead of kind words and hugs, Cersei had offered Sansa nothing but further trepidation for her future as Joffrey's wife. Sansa had felt sympathy for the queen, though. It seemed unfair that she should be alone giving birth while the late Robert was out on hunting trips. At least she had her brother by her side, but a brother was not the same as a husband! Sansa had always supposed the father of her children would be by her side at every important moment. She imagined that during her own birthing, he'd be offering her encouragement and peace of mind. Cersei was correct, though. Sansa knew Joffrey would not be there for her.  _Except,_ she'd thought to herself as the queen regent spoke,  _perhaps he_ would _stay by my side. To see all the blood, that is._

"Come quickly, girl, or not at all," said Clegane in a sharp voice that finally made Sansa move, for she heard urgency in it. She followed him past the garden wall, past the rose garden and when he took a step behind the winding tree in the middle of the yard, Sansa hesitated. She did not like the way it felt to be alone with Joffrey's dog. It seemed wrong, and he was always mocking her or laughing at her habits. Today, he was not laughing. He stared at her intensely, his eyes narrowed.

"Do you remain a maid?" he demanded in a snarl.

Sansa was not certain whether she was more affected by the question, or the Hound's angry tone, almost as though he was ready to pick a fight with her. "I don't—I don't know what you mean," she sputtered.

"The king has had relations. That much is clear. And I have seen the signs. So tell me, little bird. Has he had you, or not?" Clegane's tone was softer now but he still glared down at her as though she'd wronged him personally. Why did he care? It was beginning to seem that he was attempting to help her, though Sansa had no idea why he'd want to do that. Was this just another thing he was going to pass on to the queen regent? She'd even tried to thank him for saving her during the riot a few days back and he'd merely glowered at her, and had gone on about how sweet killing was. He'd also implied Joffrey would do worse to her than she'd seen. It was absolutely clear to Sansa that the Hound thought she was a joke. Still, she was not entirely certain what his motives were.

"Yes, I am a maid," Sansa whispered, running her hand up the gnarled bark of the tree. "I am waiting patiently for my marriage to his grace—"

"Has the king committed rape on you, girl?" asked Clegane, and Sansa tried not to look at the distracting burns, the glint of red skin and craterous pours that traveled up the side of his face like a bloody mold.

_What does it matter? Joffrey can have me when he wants and though the first times he touched me I was not ready for him, the last time I took him willingly. If what Joffrey is doing is bad, then I'm just as bad. I think impurely when I see him now. I very much do want to kiss him again, though not the boy who had my father's head chopped off. I want the boy from my dreams, the one I was promised. And Joffrey is like that, sometimes. Sometimes his touches are tender and sometimes they hurt._

"I am trying to help you, girl, don't you see!" Clegane said, and he threw up his massive hands. There was such an exasperated sound to his tone that Sansa had the terrible feeling he wasn't really  _asking_ her if she was a maid. It seemed he already knew she was not one.

She lowered her head, feeling her body begin to shake. "I still do not know why you are asking," she said in a low voice, trying to keep composure. "Yes, I am a maid. Yes, I am loyal to Joffrey. And no, he has not done anything to me—"

"Aside from ordering you stripped and smacked? Aside from smacking you with a riding crop?"

"I disobeyed him," Sansa said instantly, meeting the Hound's dark eyes once more. "He taught me a lesson!"

Clegane snorted and lowered his voice. It reminded Sansa of gritty bits of rock, or a sword being dragged on a marble floor. "Which is why I question you so. Joffrey has bedded a girl of some sort. I've known the boy for years and I've heard how he talks about women. His tune changed, little bird. Virgin boys seldom speak so boldly of the sensation of a tight and wet cunt—the young king used to balk at the talk of cunts. He used to nearly fain at the word! Not so long ago, he said he'd never like one as long as he lived. It used to be quite funny to get a rise out of him by reminding him of his impending duties as a king! But way he spoke about this bedding—well, it was the same wide-eyed, excited look he gets when he sees something die, he's a strange sort and no one knows that more than I do—"

Sansa felt her face get hot at Clegane's coarse words. She wanted to know more about what Joffrey had said. She hoped nothing too personal. And had he found her favorable? It seemed he had. Did this mean he'd be kinder to her? Sansa had a thousand questions, and she could ask none of them. Instead, she played her part. "I have no idea what his grace was speaking of. And I don't discuss such things. I am a lady. It is improper. As I have seen it, King Joffrey is not interested in me and will not be until we are wed. I know not what he was referring to but he has not had me-"

"The king made it sound as such, and though you have made it clear that your fear of my face impedes your judgment I wanted to see if there was truth in the matter. He says he bedded two whores on his Name Day but I stood outside his door the whole time and thus heard what went on inside. It did not sound like anyone was bedded, but he speaks like he knows what he talks about…For once."

"My king can do what he likes," Sansa replied, and she made quite certain to give Clegane a fierce look right into his eyes to hide her deep shame. "I have no idea why you summoned for me."

Clegane stamped at the ground like an impatient steed. "I'm not here for you to chirp at me, little bird. Now, I've seen him steal to your chambers at night, and I've seen the way you two have been carrying on. Has he touched you?"

Sansa blanched.  _So, he has seen! He does know! Well, I won't let on! I won't give him the satisfaction!_ "My Joffrey has kissed me and nothing more."

Clegane gave a roll of his eyes and sneered at her. "You covered your neck with ribbons. You watch him with something different, something not unlike when I met you in Winterfell and you stammered at him as though you'd never seen anything with a cock in your life. So tell me, has he fucked you or just beaten you for fun?" Clegane questioned, and there was a hint of bitterness in his tone.

" _Ser!_ I am a  _lady!"_ Sansa burst out, tears stinging in her eyes.

"And I am a Dog! Not a Ser!" declared Clegane. "I am the king's sworn shield and I am loyal to him. I battle for him and I protect him. But while some men blindly protect him, I've seen too much. The king has certain tastes and the king has hobbies. Hobbies that would make a bird fall down dead in fright if she knew. I can look out for you, as you are my future queen. You need not say a word. You may only nod."

He was speaking as if he hated her but he was offering her protection. He was stating that he worked for Joffrey, and then saying he would help her. Nothing in his words made sense, and Sansa just wanted to be rid of him. She did not like his mocking tone, or his gritty laughter, or the coarse way he talked about intimacy. At least Joffrey had regal manners, when he did choose to be kind. Joffrey did not go on and on about "cocks" and "cunts" and he kept his hands perfectly clean. He spoke well and dressed finely, and his cruelty could easily be masked by his striking face. Sansa did not reply to Clegane and she did not nod. She merely stared straight ahead, willing herself to think of Joffrey's good traits.

"You have nothing in your brain except those damned songs you hold onto!" Clegane said loudly with a rude laugh. "Let us hope your head stays pretty. I should hate to be the poor bastard assigned to whacking it off your neck." With that he took off, leaving Sansa feeling as though he'd struck her hard. She willed herself not to cry; she'd been so  _emotional_ lately, she could just imagine Arya's disdain for her wavering emotions.

' _Crying? Again? What are you doing? Run away! Get out of there! Don't let him speak to you so!'_

_I'm not like you,_ Sansa thought, drawing a deep and shuddering breath.  _You're strong, Arya. And I am not. You know this—_

' _You could be strong, if only you'd listen. Maybe the Hound only wishes to help you. Maybe you should listen to him instead of being so stupid over dumb old Joffrey!'_

_You wouldn't understand, though. You never do._

' _He had Father murdered in front of your eyes. You really are stupid.'_

Sansa nervously put her hands through her hair.  _You might feel differently when you sleep with a boy—_

' _Sleeping? Is that what you call it?'_ Sansa could hear Arya saying this perfectly, and a small smirk flashed on her lips as she imagined Arya's disgusted face. Arya hated most boys but she had a special sort of loathing for the boy king. Sansa really could not picture telling Arya what she'd done, what she was doing, with Joffrey. She couldn't imagine telling anyone, especially her parents.  _'What would Mother say? She'd be furious—'_

_Ugh. I cannot think about that! I wish Mother were here but she's not! You're gone, too. I'm all alone. What else do I have? Nothing! I don't have anyone but Joffrey and the queen. They are my family now. You all left me._

' _You can think of me! Think about me and stop thinking about the king, and about his mother! Think about Mother and Robb and Jon and Bran! Think of Rickon, too. Think of Father, don't forget Father!'_

_I don't want to think of Father._

' _Why?'_

_Because Father is my fault, and it makes me sad. I cannot think of Lady, either. I have to think about how much I love Joffrey and what a dashing king he is. How kind he is. What a fine husband he'll be—_

' _Are you crazy?'_

Sansa paused.  _Well. I am hearing my sister's voice in my mind, so—_

' _Joffrey is evil. He won't make a good husband. He killed Lady. And he'll kill you, too, if you don't run—'_

_Shut up,_ Sansa thought,  _I need to believe in him! And he didn't kill Lady! You did!_

' _You know that isn't true. Stop trying to forget what you saw. You know what really happened.'_

Sansa drew a breath and tugged up on her skirts as she walked, trying to ignore the loudness of her own mind. She followed the narrow path toward the castle, wanting away from there but not sure where she could go. It was then that Joffrey jumped out at her, a big smile on his face.

"Lady Sansa!" he exclaimed, "I have been looking for you! May I have a word?"

Though his voice was good-natured, Sansa jumped and her heart pounded. Joffrey continued to smile at her, his green eyes watchful and hair bright gold in the sun.  _Has Joffrey been here the entire time? Did he hear Ser Clegane?_ She looked him over as she thought about how to reply, and saw nothing upon his face but pleasantness. She'd of course learned that his outward expressions said nothing about what his actions might be, but she was glad he wasn't acting angry with her at this moment. "Good morning, your grace," she said, and she was glad that her voice did not waver. "Of course you may—"

"Good," he said with a cheerful-looking sort of nod, and he put out his arm for her to take. "How have you been fairing?" he asked, and Sansa gave him a tentative smile as she slipped her arm through his.

"Well," she answered, as she tried to forget her conversation with Clegane and the "warning" she'd gotten from Arya's voice in her mind. Sansa couldn't believe herself, fashioning a fake conversation with her missing little sister who'd been absent from her life for nearly a year. She hadn't played pretend since she was eight years old, for Gods' sake. "Quite well. And you, my king? How was your hunting trip?"

Joffrey's face lit up like she'd offered him freshly baked lemon cakes, or promised him an exciting surprise. "Oh, it was very good! I shot a pheasant, five hares and a doe!"

"All on your own?" Sansa asked, slightly impressed at the news of the deer but sad, too. She understood the practicality of hunting but she still could not help but like deer for their sweet faces and graceful mannerisms.

"Of course it was on my own!" said Joffrey importantly. "One right after the other. You should have seen them fall! I only needed one arrow for the doe! It flew right into her head!" He gave Sansa a broad beam. "Only one arrow and down she went!"

Sansa cringed, though she feigned interested and nodded with a pleasant expression. "That's very good, your grace, that you only needed one arrow—"

Joffrey's eyes darkened a bit. "Well, yes, it was impressive," he said, and he suddenly seemed somewhat irritated with her. "You should come with me sometime and see just how well I do." It sounded more like a challenge than an invitation.

"I need no proof that you're a skilled hunter, your grace. I don't think a hunt is a place for a lady like me. I might be a bit scared." Sansa hoped this was the right response as it left her mouth.

"I would protect you," Joffrey said instantly and he cupped the curve of her back with the palm of his hand. Sansa felt a shiver down her spine, not at all reassured by Joffrey's words. Joffrey went on, and though it was subtle, Sansa noticed an obvious shift in his tone of voice. "Of course, my Dog would be there, too, I'm sure. He could also protect you."

_Is this merely a coincidence?_ Sansa thought, very aware of the way Joffrey's fingers snaked around her waist. "Why should I need him," Sansa began carefully, making certain the words came out in the correct way she wanted, "when I have you by my side?" She was pleased with how humble she sounded.

The king must have been pleased with her, too. He whirled around and grasped her face in his hands, bringing his lips to hers. Sansa squeaked into his open mouth; the kiss was sweet, but he was being forceful, grasping her hips hard in his hands and pressing himself against her. She could feel him, hard, in the spread place between her legs. "Sansa," he whispered into her ear, and she shivered at the tingling sensation. "Sansa, I want to see you in private—will you come to my chambers later this evening? Please, my lady, please." His voice was heavy and slow. Any evidence of cruelty, every shred of vitriol, was gone. It had been replaced with something else, a sort of longing, pulsing with need for her.

Sansa felt her breathing change and between her legs, she felt a twitch of desire. She hated that he made her feel this way, hated that her brain could so easily be tricked by the change in his voice and his hands—she wanted his hands in places she could not even verbally describe without blushing, and his mouth, too, she wanted to feel him all over. It scared her because the want was so strong, it was not a lie, not playing pretend. "Yes, I'll come to you—"

"Good. I will send one of my men tonight," Joffrey responded, in that same curling voice, and he kissed her face, then her hand. Sansa could not hide a smile, and when he held her face again and brought his lips to hers, she happily returned the kiss.

"Ah, young love. How quaint," said a voice behind them. Reddening, Sansa gasped and turned to see Varys and Lord Tyrion, who appeared to be strolling through the gardens. Varys had spoken and was wearing deep purple silk and a curious smile, while Tyrion held a very large and heavy book.

"They seem to be getting on," Tyrion observed. "At least some people seem unaffected by the imminent invasion. There is joy to be had in ignorance, I am told."

Joffrey's mouth curved down as he removed his hands from her cheeks. "You frightened my lady! Apologize at once!"

"No doubt your lady's tolerance for fear has increased in your presence, nephew. She's likely able to endure most terrors by this point," returned Tyrion politely and then gave a little bow. "Though I do apologize for startling her all the same."

Joffrey caught Sansa at her waist again as soon as the two men strode off. "Tonight," he whispered. "I'll see you tonight." And she hated to admit she was looking forward to seeing King Joffrey, as long as he stayed like this.

. . .

Ser Meryn escorted Sansa to Joffrey's chambers when the clock struck nine. Sansa was glad it was not Ser Clegane, for although Meryn was boorish in his own right, he was also far quieter. Any cruelty he displayed was through his acting out of the king's punishments.  _But you can't think about that,_ Sansa reminded herself as she followed,  _it is clear he's trying to be happy with you, and you must stay positive. If you stay in his favor, he will not hurt you._ Instead of worrying about what could go wrong, Sansa recited her favorite romantic rhymes in her head. When Meryn knocked on the king's door and she heard Joffrey call out to enter, she walked in with a straight back and a smile.

"Lady Stark, your grace!" announced Meryn a bit theatrically, and gave a deep bow.

"Leave us, Meryn," Joffrey said from where he was standing near the end of his four poster bed, and he turned to cast a pleasant look at her. He was clothed in far more casual dress, a tunic of deep green and a sash of black velvet, and in his stocking feet. His hair was slightly rumpled as though he'd just come from the bath and Sansa liked how he looked so fine even in his evening clothes.

Meryn nodded. "And when shall I return?"

"My lady and I have some business to discuss. I do not think I should need you anymore, Meryn. If I do, I shall call for you." The king approached Sansa after Meryn had left, head held high as he surveyed her. "My lady—I have waited for you the entire day. I could hardly focus on my duties for I was thinking of you so often."

Sansa felt herself flush. These were the words she would have adored to hear so long ago, and perhaps they still meant something now. It was clear that Joffrey was making an effort for her. Could people change?  _'No, they can't, no, they can't,'_ sang Arya's voice inside her head, but Sansa ignored it. "My king," she said, and fell into a curtsy. "It pleases me to hear you say this."

"I wanted to speak to you in private," Joffrey went on, and he reached for her hands and took them gently, "but first, be comfortable. If it would please you, sit with me on my bed." Sansa nodded, and he took one hand and led her there, where they sat at the edge side by side. The coverlet was velvety and the mattress was a perfect balance of soft and firm. Candles flickered around the room and Sansa was finally able to appreciate how beautiful it was, how grand. Deep reds made the room feel warm, and trophies lined the walls. There was a beautiful view of the outside; Sansa could see flames from lamplight in the courtyard. A large dressing screen hid the darker corner of the room. She focused again on the king, whose face was bright with excitement. "My mother says you've become a woman at long last," he said.

Sansa's eyes grew a bit wide and she adjusted her weight. After all, she had not expected they'd discuss such things. She was not sure what she thought Joffrey wanted to see her for, but she'd hoped it was for more kissing, more good-natured conversation—not embarrassing, private details. "Y-yes, my king," she said, a bit humiliated.

"You should be excited," Joffrey said with a smile, and he clasped her hands in his own. "It means we shall be married after the war is all done, after I conquer Stannis and bring down his armies!"

Sansa nodded, and though she was still apprehensive about their impending wedding, she knew very well not to mention her hesitance to the king. She knew she needed to believe in her excitement, and that the belief would help make it a reality. "I'm  _very_ excited. I've been looking forward to my wedding all my life," she said, making sure to sound enthusiastic. "I've imagined my dress, the celebration, my husband—and how perfect it will all be."

"Yes, it  _will_ be perfect. I have long imagined my wedding as well," Joffrey said, and the dimples showed in the corners of his mouth. Shadows danced across his face but there was no darkness in his expression. He looked bright-eyed, peaceful and most importantly, sane. "We have had a few arguments but as long as you follow my direction and obey me, I promise to make your life here at King's Landing as wonderful as possible."

_A few arguments? Is that what you're calling them?_ Sansa nodded again, more slowly this time. Could he be telling the truth? "I want that very much," she said, because if she did not appeal to Joffrey, there was no one left to care for her. In Joffrey's company, she needed to be behind him completely.  _Only alone can I pray for Robb to conquer,_ Sansa told herself.

"It also means we must take precautions so that you do not get with child," Joffrey said quietly, placing a hand on her leg. Sansa breathed in, enjoying the sensation of his palm on her skirts. "Do you know what I am saying?"

"I know you cannot… end it while you are inside me," she responded, blushing. "I asked my handmaiden once and she said the man must stop before he finishes—if that makes sense—"

Joffrey looked deep and thought, and nodded once after awhile. "Yes," he said, "I understand. We must be very careful, Sansa. If you were to become pregnant before our wedding, you would be in very harsh trouble. My mother would not stand for it, and neither would the courtiers, or my subjects. A queen cannot be impure, Sansa. But I will not tell anyone what we are doing." He looked at her, eyes locking into hers. "And you should not either. Your handmaiden who gave this advice, does she know?"

"She has no idea," Sansa put in quickly, trying to keep her voice steady. "I said nothing. You had me promise—I didn't want to disobey you."

"That's good, Sansa," he replied, still smiling. "You did nothing wrong, don't look so nervous. Anyway, it will be time soon to plan our wedding and I want you to have everything you ever dreamed. We shall make it grander than grand, just imagine! In the throne room, with thousands of guests from far and wide! The best food and drink, and only the greatest entertainment."

"Yes, I look so forward to it, Joffrey," she said, though the eerie throne room sounded a horrid place for a gay affair. "It will be perfect."

"You will be such a beautiful bride," Joffrey went on. "I want to see you with garlands in your hair, in a lavish dress—I can imagine how good you'll look on my arm. Every man will want you for his own but you're mine, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'm yours!" Sansa replied in an instant.

"Some already look at you, you know. Some men desire you, even now. Their eyes linger on you," Joffrey said, a sharp edge to his voice. "Even though they know you are my future queen, they still want what they cannot have."

"I suppose I don't notice that. They should know I am yours," Sansa responded, but she did not know where this was going or why the joy had left Joffrey's tone. The only men who had noticed Sansa were those from the riot.

Joffrey crossed one long, lean leg over the other. "I overheard a very interesting conversation today in the garden. Can you imagine what it was about?"

"I—" Sansa began to speak but found her voice coming out in a sputter.  _No, no, please, no!_ "I don't—know, your grace—"

"You were speaking to my Hound. Do you not remember?" Joffrey asked, and he was smiling wider now.

"I—I remember," Sansa said, swallowing. "I didn't want to—he asked me to speak with him and I was nervous, I didn't know what he wanted—you heard me, your grace! Did you not? I said nothing, nothing but good things. I told him how you are my king, that you may do as you wish—"

"Sansa!" Joffrey exclaimed, and he let out a low laugh, taking her hand again. "You worry so. I heard everything, and you said nothing amiss. Though I was quite disappointed in my Dog. You see, I thought he was my friend but a friend would not do such a thing. He spoke against me. Did he not?"

"He did," Sansa said, breathing a sigh of relief and she squeezed Joffrey's hand in her own. "He did, your grace, but I told him! I told him there was nothing to worry about, that you are my king! I think he only looks out for my wellbeing but I assured him I do not need him."

Joffrey blinked his long lashes, a befuddled look on his face. "But why would he go against me?" he asked with a pout, which made him look years younger. "Why would he care one way or the other about you?"

"I have no idea, your grace," Sansa gasped. "I was wondering the same! I told him that I remain a maid, and that I'm loyal to you—you must have heard!"

"You are completely unaware of the fact that my Dog finds you beautiful. Aren't you?" King Joffrey questioned, and he sneered as he stood and began to pace before the edge of the bed. "Are you really so innocent, Sansa  _Stark_?" He hissed her last name like he was a predator preparing to strike and those green orb eyes watched her every move.

Sansa was dumbfounded. Had she unwittingly walked right into a trap without seeing any signs, or was this merely another test? Was the king jealous or was he toying with her? She knew this was no time to mull over Joffrey's actions. She needed to act fast and be smart. She needed to do whatever she could to keep him content. "Your grace, I beg you—I had no idea! Why do you say such a thing?"

"It's charming, you know," Joffrey began, "how simple you can be sometimes. I've watched my Hound around you, Sansa, and he seemed interested in you. But I thought, he'd never fall for a girl. He's much too tough, too hardhearted. He rants about women, hates them. And furthermore, he'd never set sights on  _my_  queen, not  _my_ Dog. But I suppose stranger things have happened and when I heard you both today in the garden, I saw what I'd feared was happening. So tell me, Sansa, for how long has this been going on?"

"What?" choked Sansa, her gaze following Joffrey's movements as he paced, his hands folded behind his back in a prim manner. She was trembling. "How long has  _what_  been going on?"

"I saw the way he looked at you that night in the hallway! Remember? He wanted you! He saved you because he wanted you! And now today! Was that the first conversation he had alone with you? Or were there more?" Joffrey asked, and Sansa felt her stomach turn as he stared her down.

"I don't like to speak to him, your grace," Sansa said as fast as the words would form. "I don't like to be alone with him. He scares me, as you know! Sometimes he talks to me as he walks with me, but that is all—"

"What does he say?"

"He—he asks me questions," she replied, trying to recall. It was not a time to lie. "He asked me about you, in the beginning. When we first… He saw the ribbon on my neck and asked if you'd been touching me. He wanted to know if we'd done anything—"

"And you didn't report straight to me?" Joffrey's voice was raising and he was beginning to look the tiniest bit dangerous. "What kind of queen will you be for me if you're dishonest? If you speak to other men behind my back?" He ceased in pacing and instead halted in front of the large dresser to the left of his bed, bathed in the glow of candlelight as he bent over and rummaged about. His blond hair glistened.

"I didn't want you to worry!" she said, wringing her hands. "I told him to mind his business. What else should I have said? I'll set it right! What do you want from me?"

"I want you to tell me the truth," said Joffrey loudly, and there was an abominable creaking. Sansa knew that sound. "Only the truth." When he turned around, he was holding his precious crossbow out in front of him, aiming it straight at her head.

"Joffrey!" Sansa shrieked, and she stood up, scrambling backward. "I didn't do  _anything! I swear! I swear!_ I hate Ser Clegane! He frightens me! He speaks to me and all I want is for him to leave me alone!"

Joffrey walked forward slowly, his sneer pulled as tight as the arrow he'd loaded. "Tell me. Do you find him handsome? Do you want him to rescue you again?"

"No! I can't stand to look at him! I told you! I hate him! I hate him!" Sansa's voice was something between a wail and a shout and she cowered by the end of the bed.

"Him or me, Sansa?" Joffrey called out, brandishing the crossbow out in front of him with one eye shut, aiming straight for her brain. He took a step forward.  _Only one arrow and down she went!_

"YOU!" Sansa screamed, trying to use Joffrey's bedpost as a shield, clinging to it so hard she was sure her hands would splinter. "YOU! ONLY YOU! Why do you even question me? I love you with all my heart! You know I do! He disgusts me! He isn't anything to me!"

"How can I trust you?" Joffrey asked, and he lowered the crossbow ever so slowly. "How do I know you're not a traitor like the rest of the Starks?"

"I—don't—know," Sansa bawled, so relieved he'd dropped his weapon. "I'll do anything, Joffrey—please, please—I'll prove it—"

"Don't cry," Joffrey simpered, but he strode forward and took her in his arms. There was only tenderness in his touch and his eyes were kind again. "I believe you," he said. His breathing was ragged, like he was excited. "But if my Dog were to try anything again… if he were to try and touch you or speak to you… would you tell him what you just told me, Sansa?"

"Oh yes," she nodded into Joffrey's shoulder, tears still pulling from her eyes. "Yes, I would." Of course, Sansa had no plan to tell Ser Clegane she'd called him fearsome and ugly, but she needed to stay alive and Joffrey would never know the difference.

"Good," said King Joffrey agreeably, and he kissed the side of her face. "Oh, Dog!" he shouted suddenly, sounding eager. "Dog! You may join us now!"

Sansa felt her face pale and her chest pang as she heard footsteps. Ser Clegane stepped out from behind the shadowed dressing screen, and it was obvious from the look on his face that he had heard every word.

 

 


	17. The Hero

* * *

SANSA

* * *

 

 

The Hound walked slowly into the candlelight, his scraggly dark hair shielding his face. He was stumbling a bit and Sansa recognized that he might be a bit intoxicated. "Your grace," he said slowly, his eyes narrowed. He did not look amused. His fearsome expression scared Sansa but Joffrey went on, obviously emboldened.

"Did you enjoy the wine I gave you? No need to be shy!" Joffrey called out, his voice high and very loud. "Come Dog! I told you I had something interesting for you to see? Didn't I? Didn't I?"

Sansa had set her jaw, very aware of Joffrey's arm still wrapped around her.  _Oh no,_ she thought frantically.  _He must have heard everything I said! I was rude! I was telling Joffrey the truth but it's nothing I wanted Ser Clegane to ever hear!_ She did not want to look at the Hound's face but when she finally did, he was averting his eyes from her completely. Sansa burst into tears again. "Please, I had no idea—" she burst out.

"So, you made all of that up?" Joffrey asked, throwing her a wide eyed grin and squeezing her waist. "Lying to a king is treason. You know that." His voice was teasing and upbeat, completely mismatched for the situation.

"No—no, your grace—I meant every word," she shuddered, trying to make it apparent to Clegane that she hadn't meantto be cruel. After all, she'd only been following Joffrey's orders. _But you did mean it,_ chirped a nagging voice in her head,  _you meant every word, you think about how ugly he is every time you see his face, you detest him, you hate his burns, you hate his voice. You cannot deny this. You know this._ As if he'd heard her evil thoughts, Clegane's eyes flashed upward, and he glowered at her. Sansa let out a cry and hid behind her hands.

Joffrey laughed. "Look! You scare my lady, even now! What was it you said, Sansa? That you can't stand to look at him? Tell me, is it the burns on his face that frighten you so? Or something else?" He pointed at Ser Clegane as if he were a fascinating illustration in a book instead of a man.

Sansa shut her eyes and shook her head, whimpering. "I don't—know," she managed to get out.

"Perhaps I should leave you, your grace," Ser Clegane said, his voice reverberating and cool. "It is very clear to me how you and your lady deserve each other." His words spoken courteously enough, but Sansa caught the sting of them and she reddened. Her father had often told her things weren't what they seem, that she should not judge outward appearances. Jon had warned her not to put so much stock in physical appearance; he thought Sansa's interest in handsome princes was ridiculous.  _They'd all think I was so cruel, the way I spoke about the Hound! I am not me! Sansa would never say something so rude aloud—Sansa would be polite, be good!_

"Oh, don't be like that, Dog," Joffrey went on, flexing up on the balls of his feet as if he could hardly contain his glee. "I'd like you to stay. I don't think you've learned your lesson yet, and what an important lesson it is! If you're going to continue as my shield, I need to know that you work for  _me_."

"And haven't I proven that through my years of service to you?" Clegane asked, his voice still low and steady. "I have gone against my own judgment to deliver your justice, my king."

"Yet you conspire against me," said Joffrey in a crisp tone. "You worry for my betrothed, worry I'm not treating her as well as I could. Sansa is mine, and I can treat her however I like! If I want to touch her, I can." He coiled his arm around Sansa's shoulder. "If I want to kiss her, I can!" He took Sansa gently by the face, and pulled her hands from her eyes in a careful grip. She looked at him in confusion just as he planted a soft kiss on her lips, his mouth smooth and his breathing still very fast. She bit back her tears, the pleasantness of the feeling twisting her mind to pieces. When she cast a frantic look in Clegane's direction, pleading with him in her mind to forgive her and see she had no choice, he averted his gaze at once. Joffrey went on. "And whatever happens between Lady Sansa and me depends upon what  _I_ want for I am the king. But you, Dog, you played the part of my confidant and now I come to find you've tried time and time again to question Sansa about me!" "How do you explain this? How?" Joffrey's voice was tinny and boyish. Sansa wanted very much to scream at him and tell him to shut up, but her desire to keep kissing him was just as strong.

Ser Clegane was silent for a moment before he cleared his throat. "Your grace," he began, "it is my duty to make certain you are not in danger and the very things you are doing could upset the realm. If the queen regent knew you had been intimate with Lady Stark, as I feared, you'd both surely be punished—"

"You don't serve the  _realm,"_ Joffrey spat, no longer sounding amused. Sansa felt her stomach drop; there was no telling where this would go now. "You don't serve my  _mother._ You serve me! And you're wrong. I wouldn't be punished! My mother would never believe you."

The Hound said nothing and Sansa figured he must be thinking the same thing she was, that Joffrey was completely right. Sansa caught Clegane's eyes, but when he stared back it was like looking into empty black pools. Sansa instantly looked away, sickened by the fact that despite what she felt about the Hound she still did not want him to dislike her. She wanted to find a way to apologize and gain his favor, but this was not the time to think about that. Sansa had a sense of strong dread and she waited for the Hound's next move, her breathing quickening.

"Your grace," Clegane said after a few seconds of thick silence. "I do serve you and I had no intention of conspiring against you. Sansa is the future queen and I only wished to protect her,  _and_ you, by making quite certain you are both being careful. She will be the mother of the future king, as it stands, your grace. And as you made me stand guard as you spoke, I know now that you are going to be careful. This Dog will no longer be worried about such matters. You have my promise. And, with your permission, now I will leave you-"

"Admit it. You are fond of Sansa," said Joffrey icily, and he removed his hand from Sansa's waist. "You fancy her." Sansa looked between them. Joffrey wasn't right, was he? Clegane disliked her!  _He thinks me stupid. He's always going on about songs and birds, making fun of me for only following orders and how little I know. He wouldn't fancy me! He said so before!_

"No," said Ser Clegane at once, and his voice was slightly louder. "I do not fancy her, your grace. I do not fancy anyone. This you know."

"But you find her pretty. You shouldn't be afraid to admit it. She's beautiful, isn't she?" Joffrey smiled broadly, and he twirled his hand through Sansa's hair. She cast her eyes at the boar's head on the wall, wishing the gaping mouth would swallow her whole.

There was a very slight clanking sound as Clegane shuffled his weight and put up his shoulders in indifference. "She is not unappealing, your grace—"

" _Not unappealing,"_ Joffrey mocked quietly, slowly moving both his hands into Sansa's hair. He threaded his fingers through her locks with a gentleness foreign to her and she shut her eyes again, breathing harder. "When my father and mother informed me of my betrothal they called Lady Sansa the treasure of the North. My mother said again and again how a gorgeous girl like Sansa shouldn't be kept in an eyesore like Winterfell. Wouldn't you agree, Dog? Or is she just  _unappealing_  to you? Are your tastes so much better than my own?"

"Your grace, I do find her attractive. As does nearly every other man in your service—"

Sansa blushed at this revelation; was he only saying this to make Joffrey be quiet?

"Ah! Finally a bit of truth!" Joffrey said, and nodded approvingly. "Tell me, Dog, what do you like best about her? I am partial to her eyes, and her hair." He ran his hands down the length of her tresses and his palms landed on her shoulders. "I like her throat, too," he went on, his voice silky, and Sansa bristled as his fingernails lightly tickled her exposed collarbone, "and her breasts. You almost saw them once, Dog. Before Uncle Imp spoiled my fun and took Sansa back to her chambers.  _You_ put your cloak around my lady's shoulders. What a valiant and generous hero you are, Dog. But tell me—how disappointed were you, really? Did you think about what you could have seen? Did you think about it all evening, how exciting it would have been to see Sansa completely bare in front of you?"

Sansa's mouth hung slack in shock.  _Why is he talking like this? Doesn't he know it's embarrassing? Ser Clegane wouldn't have thought about me in that way! Why would he? That's not proper for a man to think about such things._

"Disappointed?" asked Clegane slowly, looking down blearily at the king with a confused expression. "I have no idea what you are asking me."

And then, in a very casual voice, Joffrey asked: "Would you like to see Sansa naked now?"

"What?" Sansa squealed, whipping around to face King Joffrey, her blue eyes filled with terror. "You can't mean it! Your grace!"

"Oh, it will be fun," Joffrey responded lightly. "Don't look so disturbed. Come, Dog. Use your sword and cut open her bodice. Consider this your luckiest day—"

"Your grace," said the Hound, sounding uncomfortable, "I shouldn't think this is what you want—another man to gaze upon your future queen?"

Joffrey laughed. "I'd let one hundred men gaze upon her as long as they knew she was mine. Go on, unburden her." He waved his wrist.

"You can't!" Sansa shrieked. "Please, Joffrey—Please!"

"I  _can,"_ he said, and smiled at her. "Here. I can begin to undress her." He grabbed Sansa harshly by the shoulders, turned her around and wrenched at the back of her gown, undoing the first clasp. Sansa squirmed, whimpering and shaking her head; there was nowhere to run, she could not disobey Joffrey, but she did not want the Hound to see her body! "Come and help me, Dog. This is tricky—"

"Your grace, I really do not—"

Joffrey scowled, eyes flashing, and he dug his hands into Sansa's back. She yowled. "Undress her!" he commanded, voice echoing off the walls of his chambers. "Undress her or else I'm going to make certain she is punished. She  _is_ a woman after all, and it would be very easy to make certain she is unfit to be queen. It would be too easy."

"What are you going to do?" Sansa asked in a wild voice, struggling in Joffrey's arms. She felt as if she were panicking, drowning quickly in deep water with nothing to hold onto to.

But Joffrey did not address her. Instead, he shoved her forward hard. "Do it!" he shouted. "Take your prize! See if she lives up to your expectations! Do this or I'll yell out into the hallway. Meryn and Boros will be here in an instant and I'll tell them you accosted my lady! Boros knows you were standing guard in my room this evening! I told him! You cannot get out of this!" Joffrey's tone was a manic thing, high and excited but with a twinge of fury.

Ser Clegane made a sound between a sigh and a growl. "Little bird," he said in a low tone, "turn around and stand still. I must do this, by order of King Joffrey."

Sansa shrieked. "Please! Please!" she begged, not even knowing who she was addressing or what she was pleading for.  _'I told you,'_ said the voice in her head, the voice that was something between Arya's voice and her own.  _'He's evil!' No,_ she argued,  _No, he's right—I should never have followed the Hound today, and the Hound should have known better. Why would he go against Joff like that? It's against the realm._ She felt coarse hands on her back and there was a great sound of splitting material. Sansa gritted her teeth and shut her eyes as she felt the rush of air to her exposed back.

"Pull down her gown over her breasts now. And remove her corset," Joffrey ordered excitedly, and when Sansa dared to look at him she observed how he had moved to sit on the edge of the bed with his crossbow at his side. His eyes were gleaming in the candlelight and he was hunched forward, his hands on his knees. She had no time to wonder what was making him so thrilled, because she felt the Hound tugging at her sleeves and there was another sound of ripping. Joffrey's shoulders seemed to shake as he leaned in, his eyes fixed upon Sansa's chest.

"I'm sorry, my lady," muttered Ser Clegane but Joffrey stomped his foot, making Sansa jump.

"No talking!" he said in a sharp voice. "Just take off her corset! Now!"

The Hound began to unhook the backing of Sansa's undergarment, his large rough hands working slowly and smoothly, as Sansa held back tears and tried to imagine she was somewhere else. Anywhere else. Winterfell came to mind first and Sansa imagined she was walking amongst the sentinels in the godswood, with a light breeze playing with her hair instead of the Hound's gnarled fingers as he held back her tresses with one hand and with the other coaxed her corset open. Sansa could perfectly picture the old weirwood, and she imagined Bran running in front of her, using his sword to flick droplets of water out of one of the shallow pools. She bit her lip when she felt her garment fell away, and ignored King Joffrey's excited whoop of laughter, put Ser Clegane out of her mind as Joffrey commanded him to admire Sansa from the front.

" _Come back! Come back! Don't run too far!"_ Sansa imagined herself calling to Bran, pulling on Lady's lead and petting her from snout to tail as the direwolf panted happily. She could really feel Lady's fur, soft and thick, in her spread hands as Joffrey told her raise her arms to the side.

"Stop averting your eyes, Hound," Joffrey said. "Enjoy her while you can. Sansa, pull down your skirts-"

Sansa stared blankly ahead, her mind focused on Lady's soft fur and Bran, she had to get Bran home, he'd gone too far, Mother was going to be furious!

"NOW!" Joffrey insisted, and he raised up his crossbow, the quarrel still loaded and ready to be shot.

"She's beautiful, your grace. What more shall I say? I admire her, but she is yours. Your beautiful queen." Clegane's gruff voice was coming out as a deep, slightly nervous chant as Sansa unhooked the clasp of her gown. "Lady Stark—please, keep your skirts up—King Joffrey, your grace, I believe my lesson has been learned—"

"Order me again and I'll shout for Boros!"

Vacantly, Sansa let her skirts drop to the wooden floor where they pooled around her feet. She tried to keep focused on being out of her body, in Winterfell, or in the gardens of King's Landing, or even in her living quarters, but she could not ignore Ser Clegane's gaping face. He hulked above her, and though his face was slightly shadowed, Sansa caught the attentiveness in his stare. His eyes were firmly focused on her bare breasts and torso, his mouth ajar as he stared at her. She did not have much in the way of experience with men but at once, Sansa could feel the lust in his look. The Hound was interested in her body. Joffrey had been right. She felt her face flush and the Hound seemed to snap out of his daze. He shuffled his feet again and gazed above her head.

"Do you like what you see?" Joffrey asked, lowering the crossbow again and smiling primly at the Hound. "Do you wish you were me, that she was yours?"

"She's beautiful, your grace," the Hound repeated, and though his voice was gruff, Sansa heard it waver. She closed her eyes again.  _Winterfell. Think of Winterfell. The winding Kingsroad and Mother and Father and Bran climbing trees, and Arya. Robb, Jon, and Theon quarreling, and Rickon. Septa's lessons and lemoncakes and everything that happened before the world fell to pieces._

"Kiss her."

"This has gone too far, the lady is frightened—"

"Yes, because  _you_  scare her. You heard her. She loathes you," said Joffrey instantly. "Kiss her."

Sansa shut her eyes tighter and shook her head from side to side, unable to listen anymore. Joffrey whispered something that she could not quite catch, something that made the Hound take a few steps forward, Sansa could hear his clinking armor. And then, without warning, she felt Ser Clegane's scratchy face pressed against her own and his dry, firm lips pushed onto hers. He smelled pungent, like sweat and dirt and he tasted like wine. The kiss was not horribly unpleasant—but it was  _so wrong, so very wrong._  Sansa felt herself choking on his odor.

"A Stark wolf and a Dog! What a perfect match! How is that, Sansa?" Joffrey cried. "Is it good?"

"No!" she answered in a shudder. "No! Please, Joffrey—please—"

"Kiss her again, Dog. I know you wish to. I see it on your face—"

"Your grace—"

"Kiss her again or I'll shoot her in the head," Joffrey warned.

Sansa shook her head again, her heart feeling as though it would burst through her chest. "You must listen to him! Listen!" she babbled. "You must listen!" Again, she wasn't exactly sure who she addressing. She did not feel as if she was even present. The naked girl in the king's chambers was some other poor wretch. She felt Clegane stooping over her again, and this time when their lips met the kiss was a bit longer and he caught her waist with his hands. His uniform was abrasive and cold against Sansa's bare breasts and his hands covered much more of her skin than Joffrey's could.

"Touch him," Joffrey urged, breathing in a heavy way. "Touch him there between his legs, up inside his mail."

 _Bran. Come back here this instant, Mother won't like it! Mother won't like it! No, she won't! And then Father will punish me for it!_ She did as the king wanted. She reached inside Ser Clegane's mail and felt him with the tips of her fingers. She clenched her teeth and sucked in air when realized that his groin, exposed from the protection of his torso and leg armor, was hard. When she met his eyes, he was looking down at her. His expression embarrassed Sansa; it was eager but with a red tinge to his long, scruffy cheeks. She removed her hand as though it were on fire.

"Does he grow there?" Joffrey asked and Sansa blushed deeply as she nodded. Joffrey rose to his feet, crossbow in hand. His eyes were curious and wide as he circled them, leering. "A Stark wolf and a Dog," he said again. "Yes. A lying Hound and a dishonest bitch. If you two desire one another so much, why not fuck? Right now."

"Joffrey!" Sansa exclaimed, hating to hear such awful words fall from the king's mouth. "No, you can't mean it—Please, no—I'm yours! I'm yours!"

"Hound, you heard my command. Throw my lady to the ground like the wolf she is and take her like a dog does. Fuck her until her screams nearly split my eardrums. Don't be gentle!" Joffrey said, rubbing his hand through his flaxen hair. His animated expression deeply perplexed Sansa, who, on the contrary, felt sick.

The Hound did not make any moves toward Sansa. They stood looking dumbly at each other as Joffrey circled them like a bird of prey. "Fuck her!" Joffrey squawked, eyes suddenly blazing with madness. "I want to see blood! I want you to punish her! Punish her now!" When nothing happened, he snorted impatiently. "Sansa, close your eyes!"

She did so. What other choice was there? She prayed Clegane would be quick, that he'd show her mercy. She hoped no one would ever know she'd had not one, but two men, and that one of them had been the ugly, brutal Hound. He was twice her age ( _maybe older?_ ) and he was lusting for her—what was  _wrong_ with him!? If he went through with this, she'd definitely be spoiled. Joffrey likely would not want her, and she'd be cast out of King's Landing—and where else could she go?  _And Gods—he could get me with child now!_ she thought wildly, beginning to moan aloud with worry. She pulled at her hair, her eyes shut tight. "Please Joffrey, please, please be kind and call off the Hound. Tell him to leave me alone. Please, Joffrey, please. Please. Please. I'm yours and you're mine and I'll never, ever go behind your back again! I promise!"

"Hound, on the count of three, I want you to begin or else I will release this arrow! Fuck Sansa Stark! Fuck her like a dog! On your knees, Sansa!"

"Joffrey,  _please!"_ she bawled, but she did as she was told and fell to the ground.

"Yes, just like that," Joffrey said approvingly, "now, Hound, rip her apart!"

"JOFFREY! JOFFREY, PLEASE!"

There was a clinking of armor and then a thick silence as Sansa's entire body shook with apprehension. There were three footfalls and she felt Clegane's rough hand on her back. _Pretend it's only Joffrey. He hurts you but he's to be your husband. He's allowed to hurt you._ Gentle hands that raked her hair.  _It will be over soon._ She felt her teeth chattering from a chill and from fear. She did not  _want_ Clegane inside her, did not want him to use her. She did not like that he was desirous for her and she hated that he'd gotten her into trouble with Joffrey. This was all the Hound's fault! Sansa's hands burned against the wooden floor, her nails dug in as much as she could. "Don't—don't—don't! Please! Please, Joffrey, please!" she shouted.

And then, a miracle happened. "NO! NO! NO! Don't you  _dare_ touch Lady Sansa, Dog! Don't you dare hurt her! Get away from her!" King Joffrey shouted, and she heard him moving closer to her. Sansa opened her eyes to see the king standing between her and Clegane, in a protective stance. His crossbow was up and his legs were shaking.

"Yes, your grace," Clegane said in a dull voice. "Of course." He stepped back at once.

"I dismiss you! I think you've been sufficiently punished! You may leave, and if you tell anyone about Lady Sansa and me, I'll tell them all exactly what I said I would earlier. You have my word. Out, Dog, and do not ever disrespect me or my lady again!" Joffrey said loudly, and Sansa watched him, baffled, as he waved the crossbow at Ser Clegane. He was heads shorter than the Hound, but the Hound was backing up, fear in his black pool eyes. King Joffrey stood his ground until Clegane fled from the room, tossing the door shut behind him.

Sansa's body felt flooded with relief. She'd been spared from a horrific experience. King Joffrey had pardoned her mistake and hadn't punished her. She was so very glad, she began to laugh with delight. "Thank you!" she said, "Thank you!"

"My poor lady," Joffrey mumbled somberly, and he bent down on one knee, placing his cool, soft palm to her cheek. His blond bangs hung over his face as he leaned over her, offering his hand. "Let me find you something with which to cover yourself," he said sweetly, and he helped her to her feet in a sturdy grip.

"Thank you, Joffrey. Please,  _please,_ don't be mad at me!" Sansa begged, the threats of the crossbow and Clegane still very real to her. "I wouldn't have wanted that from him. I hate him. I wasn't lying—"

"I could see that," Joffrey said, and when he kissed her gently on the side of her face, she managed a smile. "I am so sorry that I did not trust you. It was clear that you did not have any interest in him, Sansa. I don't know what I was thinking."

 _'_ _He's crazy. Don't trust him,'_ said Arya in Sansa's ear but Sansa felt nothing but joy. Joffrey had seen her perspective and he had not let the Hound touch her. He'd protected her.

"I thought I'd find it funny," Joffrey went on, "seeing you with him. I thought it would be a very good way to get my point across. But I didn't like it. Not at all." He removed his sash and put it over her shoulders so that it draped down and covered her breasts. "It really made me jealous to see that," he said. "I do not ever want to see you with another man. I want you to know you are mine and only mine."

"Anything you wish!" Sansa said quickly and smiled as the king kissed her again. She ignored the warning voices in her head and let herself only experience the thrill of feeling him touch her.

"Stay with me for awhile? I really couldn't stand to be alone right now," said Joffrey, and the lunacy was completely gone from his eyes. Sansa saw only compassion there and she nodded her head in an instant. She did not want to be alone either.


	18. Absolute and Complete

* * *

 

JOFFREY

* * *

 

_You're mine, you're mine, you're no one else's. Not his. You are mine,_ Joffrey thought as he pulled Sansa to him and stroked her hair. His heart was palpitating viciously in his chest and he felt so relieved that the Hound had left Sansa alone, so relieved he could almost feel himself breaking down. He could not let that happen, though. Sansa was there and he needed to be strong for her. She'd been so afraid, cowering on the floor and the Dog almost had her- that brutal, lying bastard.

_I should have shot him down. I should have planted an arrow straight to his groin. What a sick, miserable excuse for a man. And to think I used to call him my friend. I even used to see him as a father! He was always there for me, and he protected me. He could never do anything like raise a hand to me or hurt me because he worked for me. Even Father hit me. And there was the time Uncle Jaime slammed my finger in the door when I just wanted to see why he and Mother were taking so long in her chambers, he said it was an accident but it hurt all the same. Uncle Imp is constantly berating me and smacking me. The Hound was the one man I could trust. Well, not anymore! Never again will I entrust anyone, especially around my lady. I have to protect her._

Joffrey had not wanted it to play out this way; he'd had quite a different picture in his mind of how the events would go. He'd been amused at first, seeing Sansa and the Hound act like unwilling players in his very own performance. He'd felt completely powerful seeing the Hound, a full-grown man, obey his wishes, and Sansa, too. Seeing them succumb to his every whim. Sansa stripping down bare and the Hound's unwilling interest in her had been captivating. Joffrey knew what lust looked like, ( _"He didn't love them,"_ Mother had snarled, her eyes blazing as she recalled Father and his whores,  _"he lusted for them"_ ) and the Hound had gazed upon Sansa like a starving man longed for meat. Being in control of the two of them had given Joffrey an instantaneous erection that pulsed and rubbed in his velvet breeches, leaving him breathless and wanting to see more, more humiliation, more touching, more terror on their faces. But what had seemed like the perfect plan had become a complete nightmare.

Joffrey had no doubts that he could pull off setting the Hound and Sansa against one another. It had been easy enough to convince the Hound to stand guard in his chambers behind the dressing screen. The Hound hadn't seen anything off about the request after Joffrey had given him a flagon of wine for his troubles and had instructed him to pay close attention to what Lady Stark had to say because he'd suspected her of traitorous acts. Of course, by the time Lady Sansa was delivered to Joffrey's chambers, the Hound was drunk enough that Joffrey knew he'd do nothing unwise, like disobey him. Joffrey knew Clegane enough to be certain of his limits, and when Clegane was sober or too drunk, he thought quickest, reacted fast and strong. But in the place between just a bit drunk and stupidly wasted, the Hound's thinking was blurred, his will to act more subdued. When Joffrey had the Hound reveal himself, the look on Sansa's face had been priceless. That probably would have been enough, and it was where Joffrey's initial plan had ended. But he could not contain his spontaneity. He really had no control.

Telling Sansa to expose herself was sheer brilliance and it led to such hysterical reactions from the Hound! Had he been without a woman's touch for so long? His longing looks had been telling alone, but when he'd finally confessed his attraction to Lady Sansa, Joffrey wanted to jump with joy. It was hilarious and pathetic and perfect,  _so perfect._ Sansa had looked so blank and bewildered and the Hound had tried so hard to uphold his honor. When he'd commanded the Hound to kiss Sansa, he'd seen reason in the man's eyes, dangerous reason, and Clegane had tried to get out of it.

But it was then that Joffrey whispered in the Hound's ear in a hissing, singsong voice:  _"Kiss her, kiss her, if you don't kiss her I shall fuck her sometime when you are gone and I shall not take any precautions and when she gets with child I shall tell them all it is yours, I'll tell them you've been having an affair with her. She won't be able to be queen. And you know what that means. What they'll do to you I don't know. Want to find out?"_

Joffrey had not planned to say that, though he had thought about how easy it would be. It was such a stroke of genius and at the last moment, too, and the Hound had looked nervous. Joffrey was also very proud of the lie that Boros knew of the Hound's presence in Joffrey's room. But Clegane believed it all, and he kissed Sansa, kissed her twice. It had been enthralling, just like some of Joffrey's fantasies: a fearsome type of man accosting a pretty girl, and by his own command, too- and the best part was, he got to watch, his eyes drying from staying open for so long.

Then, in a matter of seconds, it stopped being exciting and began to disgust Joffrey. The feeling hit him like a rolling black muck sliding down an emerald green hill. This man, this hulking, badly burned,  _dog_ of a man was pawing at his lady, was grasping her with dirty hands and kissing her with a dirtier mouth. And his lady, standing still, had done nothing to stop the Hound. But Joffrey reasoned with himself, told himself it was not her fault. She was trying to be dutiful. Yet the feeling still made him sick, especially when she felt the Hound inside his armor and confirmed that he was hard. It was not just a game. The Hound truly did desire her. That had sparked fury in Joffrey. If they wanted each other, then so be it! If Sansa wanted to be fucked and filled with the Hound's seed, then why not see her treated like the Wolf bitch she truly was? His hatred for the both of them had made him feel furious but also elated as he commanded Sansa to fall to her knees like a Stark wolf. To get ready to be fucked and split open like she surely deserved for going against him, for breaking his heart with her treachery.

The Hound had been apprehensive as Sansa turned her back and dropped to her knees, though his hand had subconsciously moved to the front of his armor, his body in competition with his brain. Sansa's moon white back, her hands clawing the wooden floor, her arse up high in the air with only the very last thin undergarment hiding her buttocks from Joffrey and Clegane- it was a beautiful sight to behold, absolute and complete submission mixed with fear. The very definition of eroticism. And right then, Joffrey realized he did not want it to be the Hound who fucked Sansa there on the floor. Joffrey could not have anyone on her but himself. She was his bride-to-be, his prize, his lady. When he'd drawn his crossbow, ready to deliver a fatal arrow to Sansa for reasons he really could not explain, the Hound had moved over to shield Sansa. But Joffrey didn't want the Hound to save her again, either. Joffrey wanted to save her. And he had.

Now, Sansa was safe in his arms and Joffrey wouldn't let anyone hurt her. Not the Hound. Not anybody. Joffrey draped his sash around Sansa's shoulders to cover her bare breasts and then set to work collecting her garments from the floor. The corset had not been harmed but the gown was unfortunately ripped by the Hound's blade. Joffrey helped Sansa string the corset back together, and stepped behind her to gently tie the back. At least she'd be a bit less cold. He gave her the skirt next, and she stepped into it, smiling at him in an adoring way that made his insides fill with a warm, pleasant feeling.

"Thank you, your grace," she said finally, breaking the quiet. "Thank you so much for sparing me." She held out her hands and Joffrey took them in his own, swinging them slowly from side to side. "I didn't mean to go against you. I never want to, and I never will, ever again." Her crystal blue eyes were so demure and her mouth was so sweet. Joffrey could not imagine hating her; he couldn't even remember why he ever had.

"I hope not," Joffrey said seriously. "I want us to be happy. When you do these bad things, it confuses me. You know I..." He paused, hesitating.  _We are the only ones we can trust,_ said Mother's voice in the back of his mind.  _Love makes you weak. And you, my son, are anything but weak._

"What is it?" Sansa asked in a murmur, her gentle fingers massaging Joffrey's very slightly. "Joffrey?"

He shook his head. "Another time, perhaps," he said, and brought his lips to her cheek to deliver another light kiss. "But now, will you lie with me for a bit?" She nodded her head and so Joffrey led her to his bed and pulled back the silk coverlet, allowing Sansa to slide in first. Her shining hair shielded half her face, giving her a shadowed and mysterious appearance. _You're so beautiful,_ Joffrey thought as he curled up next to her, entwining his fingers in hers again.  _I think I might be falling in love with you._

"I don't like making you angry," Sansa whispered, her eyes grave.

Joffrey dropped her hands. "I don't wish to talk about that anymore. Besides, I was not  _angry_." He thought about that for a moment.  _Angry? No, I don't think so. Maybe a bit. I don't remember, actually._ "Not really. I saw at once you weren't interested in my Dog, but then I had my doubts in the end. Mostly, I am angry with him. He was dishonest."

"He was," Sansa agreed, though her eyes traveled to the canopy. He followed her eyes upward and then stared at her face, hard, wondering if she was hiding something. He prayed she wasn't. At Joffrey's inquisitive glance, she immediately locked eyes with him again. "He should have never gone behind your back. You are the king."

"The true king," Joffrey agreed offhandedly, and then took Sansa in his arms, leaning into her neck. He drew her close to him but positioned himself so that she could not feel the hardness that still throbbed between his legs. He willed it to go down. But having Sansa beside him was too much. Still, he didn't feel like fucking her. He just wanted her there. "I don't want him talking to you. And I wish for you not to even look at him. That's an order," he said, and grazed her neck with his lips. Sansa shuddered and he smiled.

"I wouldn't dare, Joffrey. I don't wish to look at him—"

"Meryn will fetch you from now on. He's not as good but he'll be silent if I tell him to. Or I can visit you in your chambers," Joffrey said, feeling happier by the minute.  _And perhaps we'll run into Sansa's handmaiden again._ His mind flashed to the memory of the whores beating each other and he wondered if perhaps Sansa would be interested in doing something like that. It would be a fantastic bonus if the same sort of thing excited her. He'd had his doubts about Sansa's constitution, and he and his mother had agreed that she was a sensitive girl. But it made the fantasy even sweeter to imagine sweet, good Lady Sansa,  _Queen_ Sansa, beating her handmaiden with a candlestick, or better yet, his scepter. Joffrey was beginning to think that despite all of her faults, Sansa Stark was going to be the perfect queen.

 


End file.
